


don't tell the gods (we left a mess)

by bottomlinsons (grimgrace)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (hopefully), Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humour, M/M, Minor Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, Miscommunication, Past Relationship(s), Pining, and a lot of platonic lilo, seriously so so so much platonic lilo u better saddle up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimgrace/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a misunderstanding with Liam’s mother, Louis agrees to accompany his best friend to a family wedding and pretend to be the world’s best boyfriend. But their simple plan goes awry when he learns that Harry, ex-boyfriend/ex-love of Louis’ life, will also be in attendance. (aka: fake!boyfriends with a twist ft. bromance, romance and cake.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, hello! Welcome larries, chill and dark and demon alike! 
> 
> Before we begin: massive shout out to [Babz](http://thebestfansinhelp.tumblr.com/) for being the most amazing cheerleader ever for this fic. Without her this fic would still be a flimsy little idea locked in the back of my head. So thank you, and I love you. I also want to give the biggest, biggest, biggest thank you to [Claire](http://bearmustard.tumblr.com/) for being my diligent and devoted beta through this process and for putting up with all my panicked messages and awful, awful typos. She is also responsible for the fantastic graphic so I love her extra, extra a lot. 
> 
> As for the fic itself, I will be posting a new chapter every Friday night providing that nothing goes wrong. I don't have anything crazy coming up and I am a few chapters ahead so it should be smooth sailing from here. This fic will ultimately be rated Explicit, but not until later chapters so I'm keeping it at Mature until then. 
> 
> Finally, if you do not like (read: live for) the platonic relationship between Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson then this is not the fic for you. Seriously, turn back now.

Louis notices three things in quick succession when he wakes.

One, his head hurts. The sour stench of tequila on his breath and the vague memories of slamming back shots is enough to explain this mystery. Louis quickly stops thinking about it.

The second thing he notices, his brain working decidedly slower this morning for obvious reasons, is that it’s hot. He’s trapped under the doona, body engulfed completely, and held in place by Liam’s meaty bicep, draped heavily over Louis’ shoulders. This is annoying, to be perfectly honest, because there’s a very sparse string of circumstances under which Louis allows sweaty, heavy men to drape themselves all over him and his best friend being blind drunk and clingy doesn’t factor into them.

Ordinarily, Louis wouldn’t grumble so much. It’s not as though he’s not used to Liam’s huge arms and love for spooning — it’s just that, with a pounding hangover and a mouth that tastes of feet, Louis can get away with being a little highly strung.

The third and, possibly most important thing that Louis’ notices is the sharp, shrill sound of Liam’s ringtone. It’s the stock tone, the one that Louis hears at least once every day when one of his students forget to put their iPhones on silent before texting in class, and it sets Louis’ teeth on edge.

He shoves Liam as best he can.

“ _Hnngnngghhh_ ,” he groans. “Liam. Phone.”

Liam lets out a low, inarticulate grumble, tightens his grip around Louis’ shoulders and snuffles his face into his pillow. Then he falls still again and starts to snore.

The phone keeps ringing.

Louis only barely restrains himself from punching his best friend in the face. It’s a close thing, honestly, but he controls himself at the last second.

Let sleeping _boys-who-are-mourning-their-recent-breakup_ lie, and all that.

He fights bodily against Liam’s grip for a moment, and manages to wrench one of his arms free. He struggles to reach over Liam’s huge, stupid shoulders and curses a couple of thousand times when he doesn’t find the phone straight away. Finally, _finally_ , his fingers hit cool metal and he manages to grab it.

He rolls back into place, lets out an exhausted sigh and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Liam’s phone,” he says, and instantly flinches. His voice is much, much grittier than he’d expected. He clears his throat awkwardly and tries again. “Uhm, Louis speaking?”

“Louis!” an incredibly enthusiastic voice replies. “This is a surprise!”

Louis’ brain really isn’t awake enough to deal with this. It’s only now that he realises he didn’t even have to answer the phone, he could have just silenced it and gone back to sleep.

But no. Here he is, a sweaty, unwilling little spoon awake at what is clearly arse o’clock in the morning, on the phone to Liam’s mum.

“Karen,” he says, trying not to sound as strained as he feels. “Hi, how are you?”

He’s never actually met Liam’s mum, but he’d like to. Since meeting Liam three years previously on Louis’ first real day teaching, he’s spoken to Karen several times on the phone. Every time, without a doubt, she asks after his mother and his sisters. She checks in on how his students are, and how he’s finding the school — she’s essentially as invested in his well—being as his own mum is.

Besides, she’s Liam’s mum. And mums love Louis.

It’s just that he’s not really performing at his best, right now.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” Karen says. “How have you been? That school still treating you well?”

Louis smiles grimly, suddenly reminded of all the student papers he should have been marking instead of going out and getting plastered with his best friend. He lifts a hand and presses it to his forehead, painting a smile on his face.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, even though he is absolutely, certainly not. “Doing a lot of marking, you know.”

She probably doesn’t know. Liam’s a music teacher so most of his time is taken by grading his students on their performances. When he does mark them on paper, it’s usually compositions that take up most of his time. Louis, on the other hand, has essays for three separate English classes waiting for him when he gets his shit together. And then he has to take care of his Drama student’s assessment.

Karen makes an understanding noise anyway, which is all Louis can ask for.

“What about you?” Louis asks. “How’s Geoff going?” He is ninety percent sure that Geoff is Liam’s dad’s name, and hung-over enough that the last ten percent doesn’t bother him.

Karen replies happily enough though.

While she begins to enthusiastically tell Louis all about how cheap strawberries are becoming this time of year, and the amazing deal she got at the store the day before, Liam begins to stir. The arm that’s draped so casually over Louis body shifts a few times, Liam’s grip loosening and tightening as he comes to. His eyes flicker open and Louis watches as he takes in where they are and what’s going on.

He’s tired though, his eyes hooded and sleepy as he cuddles closer to Louis.

“Morning,” Liam interrupts, his voice husky. He rolls his neck a few times, stretching out the muscles before letting his cheek rest on Louis’ shoulder. “Who’re you talking to?”

“Shhh,” Louis says.

“Louis?” Karen says.

Liam lets out a tired yawn and yanks at the blankets a little. “Jesus, Lou,” he says. “Quit hogging the covers, its fucking freezing.”

This is way, way too much to deal with this early in the morning.

“Sorry,” Louis says hastily down the phone, doing his best to ignore Liam’s grumpy hands. He relents the blankets, wondering how the hell Liam can be feeling _cold_ right now. “Sorry, Karen, I’m just — ”

Liam’s head jolts up at his mother’s name. He frowns at Louis, zeroing in on his phone at Louis’ ear — suddenly looking very, very alarmed. His mother interrupts before Liam can begin to ask questions.

“Did I just hear my son?”

“Are you talking to my mum?”

Louis gives Liam a furious look. “Would you shut up for one fucking second?” he hisses.

“Why are you talking to my mum!?” Liam hisses right back.

“Oh, my god,” Karen says.

Louis gets the sudden, sinking feeling that something is about to go incredibly wrong.

“You’re the boyfriend?!” Karen says suddenly.

The pounding of Louis’ blood suddenly sounds incredibly loud.

Admittedly, he panics.

“You’re mum doesn’t know?” he whisper-shrieks. Liam and his ex broke up over three weeks ago, how could Liam not have told her yet?

Liam goes a shade whiter, starts shaking his head.

God, Louis fucking hates it when he’s right.

“Oh, my god,” Karen says. She sounds amused, a laugh lacing her words like she’s pleased with what she’s apparently discovered. This is bad, so bad. “I can’t believe _you’re_ the one he’s been hiding all this time.”

Eyes wide, Louis looks frantically to Liam in a desperate attempt to figure out what to do. He can’t do this; he can’t be the one who explains to his best friends mum that her son’s just been dumped, no fucking way.

The silence lasts a little too long. Karen lets out another pleased laugh, and then sighs.

“I’m guessing I wasn’t supposed to find out like this, was I?”

Louis feels vaguely like he’s watching a car spin out of control in the middle of a road. Only the car is him and the road is his life and all semblance of normalcy.

“Well,” Karen says, “I’ll leave you to explain, shall I? Say hello to that son of mine.”

Liam’s waving at Louis, trying to silently demand the answers Louis isn’t giving him.

Louis can really only gape.

“Oh, and Louis?”

Louis swallows thickly. “Yes?” he says.

“I’ll see you at the wedding!”

She hangs up with a final, happy laugh, leaving Louis alone with his frantically confused best friend and the sweaty, haphazard tatters of his life.

.

“Okay,” Liam says forty minutes later.

He’s had three cups of coffee, but there’s no telling whether or not his wide, wide eyes are due to the overwhelming amount of caffeine or just sheer panic in the face of what Louis’ just told him.

“Okay,” he says again.

Louis takes a deep breath. It looks like he might have to take the reins here.

“Look,” he says carefully. “We can fix this, right?”

Liam stares forlornly at his coffee mug.

Louis swallows, bites back the swell of anxiety that’s settling in his gut, and tries again. “Liam?” and sure, his voice sounds a little dangerous but he’s _panicking_ okay, and he’s still way too hung-over for this kind of shit, so he’s allowed to sound a little stressed.

Liam blinks a few times and finally tunes in. Louis feels his shoulders drop as he relaxes — reassured simply by the fact that Liam’s finally _with_ him, that Liam seems to be thinking about what they’re going to do next.

He rubs his hand across his eyes for a second, before he drops the hand back to the table and looks at Louis with his big, sad, brown eyes.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says. He’s nodding his head haltingly, like he doesn’t believe a fucking word that’s coming out of his mouth. “We can definitely fix this.”

“Liam?” Louis says warily.

Liam, because he’s _Liam_ , plasters an incredibly fake smile across his face and does what is clearly his best attempt to look positive. It’s awful. The smooth skin at the corner of Liam’s eyes just makes Louis think of the crinkles that should be there, of the goofy little laugh and something like guilt stirs the toxic mess in Louis’ tummy.

 _Fuck_ , Louis thinks, this is not going to end well.

“No, really,” Liam says. His fake happy voice is pretty much the worst thing Louis’ ever had to listen to. “Really, it’s fine. It’s fine, I’ll just call my mum, it’s — ” his voice catches here, and Louis’ heart pretty much breaks in two. “It’s fine.”

Shit, Louis thinks. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Because here’s the thing. Liam’s been Louis’ best friend for a long time. Three years long, to be precise, and the only reason they’ve been friends is because since the very beginning Liam has always tried to take care of him.

It was Louis’ first day, first day of pretty much everything, the day that they’d met. He’d only been living in Manchester for about two weeks, the grand total of which Louis had spent in his tiny new flat, surrounded by boxes (for all of his belongings and all of the pizza he’d been eating), wallowing in self-doubt and melodramatic misery. Liam had been the one to meet him at the start of his first day teaching, his first real teaching job since he’d gotten his degree.

Liam had gone on to take him around the city, introduce him to a few of his friends and direct him to all the best pubs and cafes. It had taken a few months for their friendship to find its footing — Louis was a little abrasive, he knew that already, and Liam was kind of a stickler for the rules — but once it did, _it did._

And now his best friend, of _three years_ , was sitting opposite Louis recently dumped and looking more miserable than ever about the prospect of phoning his mother.

Louis sighs.

“Why didn’t you tell your mum?” he asks quietly.

The fake smile is gone in an instant, and suddenly Liam’s back to looking at his coffee mug. His voice is soft, quieter than Louis’ heard it in years, when he replies. “I dunno,” he says. “Didn’t come up.”  

Liam’s been in two relationships since Louis met him. The first to a dancer named Danielle, who had incredibly pretty hair and loved Liam a lot. Louis knew exactly what it was to love each other the way that Liam and Dani did, the overwhelming need to be close, to touch each other all the time even if it’s just to hold hands. But Louis’ knows how that ends, as well. It was just puppy love, and when their break up had happened — Louis was jaded enough already to not be surprised.

Liam had been though.

Dani had gotten an offer from a dancing troupe, a ballet that travelled around America that would give her far more opportunities than she could find in Manchester. She’d been scouted, as well, and the troupe had asked for her specifically. She couldn’t possibly say no.

Louis knew what that felt like as well.

Liam reacted quietly, the way he always did when he was upset. He did his best at work, always loud and cheerful with the kids — but on the weekends, and in the hours they sat together in the staff room to eat lunch, he was withdrawn, didn’t chat so much, or laugh at Louis’ jokes.

(And Louis’ got good jokes, okay?)

There wasn’t any real time that he got better, either. Louis tried and failed to help for a few weeks before he ultimately learnt his lesson. There was no use in dragging Liam out to bars and clubs when the only thing Liam wanted to be doing was sitting at him cuddling a girl who’d moved three-thousand miles away. (“ _Time heals all wounds,”_ Louis’ mum had said on the phone, getting a hearty “ _uuugghhhhhhh, fine,_ ” in response.)

One day, Liam’s smile just started to reach his eyes again. And then his giggle got goofy, and he started asking Louis if they could chill out after work and it got better.

Louis’ holding out that the same thing happens now, but they’re only at the three week mark and Liam’s break up with Sean was remarkably more volatile. This breakup was nothing like the sad goodbye at the airport when Dani had left, this one had sent furious accusations flying and ended with slammed doors and blocked phone numbers.

Louis’ never had that, before. He’s the king of amicable, passive-aggressive break ups. He didn’t have any idea how to help when Liam called him, doing his best to hide the sniffling noises as he asked Louis to tell the school he couldn’t work the next day. Louis didn’t know how to help Liam deal with the names Sean threw around, with the awful things that filled Liam’s brain.

He’d done his best, though. Louis was the one who’d been there when Sean had come to collect his things from Liam’s flat. He’d gotten nothing more than a sneer for his trouble, and a vindictive sense of gladness that Louis had thought to herd Liam out of the flat. Then that afternoon he’d sat on Liam’s couch and made Liam watch some brainless action movie to try and distract him from the empty spaces Sean’s things had left behind.

It makes an awful kind of sense that Liam didn’t tell his mum. Louis probably wouldn’t have either.

“But why would she think that it’s me?” Louis asks, before he can help himself. “You didn’t mention him once?”

It sounds more accusatory than it should and Louis winces when the words hit the air. Liam curves in on himself a little more. He shrugs his shoulders in a quick jerky motion. “It was early, you know?” he says, his gaze darting nervously up to Louis before settling on the table again. “I didn’t want to, to jinx it after Dani ...”

He wipes his hand across his face again.

“I dunno,” he says with a sigh. The rest of his sentence spills out in a mad rush. “I don’t know why, it was stupid, I — look, it doesn’t even matter, alright, I’m going to sort it — you don’t need to — ”

“I know I don’t need to,” Louis says. “I will, though.”

It’s a bit bizarre, the way he makes his decision. Liam clearly has no idea what he’s talking about and why would he? Louis hasn’t even got a fully formed plan in his head, just the bare bones of a thought and the knowledge that this might make life a little bit easier for his best friend.

Liam looks up from the table. “You will what?”

Louis swallows. Put on the spot, he doesn’t have a single clue how to explain what he’s thinking. Is it weird? He thinks. It’s probably weird. He lifts a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Uhm,” he says, “I just mean, you know, I could... pretend?”

Liam blinks at him.

Then he blinks a little more.

“What?” he says finally.

Louis feels his cheeks warming, the familiar spread of pink that’s probably stirring across his neck and around his ears. He clears his throat and attempts to look casual when he shrugs.

“I don’t know?” he says, and yeah that’s not nearly the level of unaffected he was going for. “I just — I know how shitty it is to have to admit you lied to your mum, and you’re already dealing with the whole, uhm, Sean thing.”

Liam stares at him for a little while longer. “Wait,” he says. “You don’t want me to tell her the truth?”

His voice sounds incredulous and honestly Louis doesn’t blame him.

“I don’t want you to _not tell her_ ,” Louis says, “but if you wanted to like, _hold off_ for a bit — you could, I mean, I wouldn’t mind?”

There’s a pause.

Horrifically, Liam’s eyes start to well up.

Ordinarily, Louis would give him shit for this. But, the situation as it is, he just kind of panics.

“Oh,” Louis says, his own eyes widening in alarm. “Oh no! No, don’t — don’t do that. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!”

Liam flushes an awfully dramatic shade of red, hunches his shoulders and wipes at his eyes. When he looks back up at Louis, he’s blinking furiously.

“You’re a really good friend, Louis,” he says.

Louis really doesn’t know how to deal with it. His own blush heats up again, and he awkwardly looks down at his own hands. “Well,” he says, “I mean, you’d do it for me?”

Liam still looks a little teary.

Louis sighs. “Knock it off, you know you would,” he says — and it’s a bit ridiculous that Louis knows that so resolutely but he _does_ — “And if I can help to make your life a bit easier right now, of course I don’t mind.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Liam says resolutely. 

Louis doesn’t even pause. “I am.”

And he is. Honestly. It’s not like it’s going to be hard, he already spends eighty percent of his time with Liam anyway. And Liam’s mum lives miles away so it’s really just a matter of a few convincing phone calls. It’s no skin of Louis’ back, especially not if it means that Liam might start smiling again.

And there it is. A hint Liam’s familiar optimism shining through all the sadness and the bullshit he’s had to put up with these last few weeks.

If anything seals the deal, it’s that.

.

“One quick question, Payno,” Louis says a few minutes later. “Your mum might’ve mentioned a wedding?”

“Oh,” Liam says. “Shit.”

.

Four weeks later, Louis finds himself in the passenger seat of Liam’s car, speeding down the motorway. Their suitcases have taken up all the room in the backseat, save for right behind Louis’ seat, where a crisp suit bag hangs.

“Alright!” Louis says. He claps his hands, rubbing them together for absolutely no reason at all before he manages to control himself. He grabs his own knees, palms smoothing over the denim of his jeans in an effort to keep himself still. “Yes! We’re doing this; let’s do this thing, Payno!”

There’s a good chance his nerves are getting the better of him.

Liam notices, because Liam notices everything.

“Lou?” he asks, his voice annoying cautious. “You alright?”

Louis pointedly ignores the ‘ _thump, thump, thump’_ of his heart beat and nods enthusiastically. “Better than ever, Payno!” he says. “Why?

He’s talking much louder than the small car requires, but he just can’t seem to help himself.

The points of Liam’s brows come together in the middle, and he frowns. “You keep calling me ‘ _Payno’_ ,” he says.

Louis shrugs. “Course I do,” he says, his face scrunching up. “That’s our thing, that’s what we _do,_ we’rebros.”

Liam watches him for a few silent seconds, his increasingly concerned gaze flicking from the road to Louis face. “Okay,” he says after a beat, “I think there’s a rest stop up ahead, I’m going to pull over and — ”

“What? No!”

“Louis, come on, you clearly need a breath of fresh air or something, you’re freaking out,” Liam says.

“Excuse _you_ , Liam,” Louis says. “I’m fine. I’m wonderful. Great, even.”

Liam shoots him a blank look, a look that would probably be more serious if Liam didn’t have to keep an eye on the road at all times. There is silence in the car for about a minute. Then:

“Quiz me again,” Louis orders.

Liam groans. “ _Louis_ ,” he whines. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“You already _know_ everything,” Liam continues to protest. “We’ve been doing this for _weeks._ ”

Louis puffs up his chest indignantly. “And we’ll keep doing it as long as we can, Liam James,” he says with a frown. “If I’m going to be your boyfriend, I’m going to be the _best_ damn boyfriend your family has ever seen.”

Liam slumps in his seat, gazing forlornly at the road that spills out ahead of them. (For someone who’s been shooting Louis so many judgemental looks, he’s done a remarkable job at keeping the car between the white lines. Liam’s always been a good multi-tasker.)

“You do realise that that’ll just make my mum hate all of my real boyfriends, right?” Liam says.

“Course I realise that,” Louis replies. “That’s my _plan._ ”

Liam groans again. After a second though, it’s clear he’s been in enough arguments with Louis to know how this one will end. He lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh.

“Fine,” he says. “What’s my mother’s name?”

Louis rolls his eyes. Liam doesn’t notice, though; too busy watching the actual road as he drives.

“Liam, come on!” Louis says, getting vocal. “This is a quiz, I need the _hard_ questions.”

“You didn’t even answer!” Liam says.

“God, it’s Karen, alright? Your mother’s name is Karen.”

The corner of Liam’s lips tug upwards like he’s pleased with himself. Smug bastard.

“And my dad?”

Louis shoots Liam a very cold look, the impact of which is softened by the fact that Liam’s still not fucking looking. “Geoff,” Louis huffs.

“My sisters?”

Now Louis kind of wishes Liam _had_ pulled over the car. Then he could give him a good punch in the arm for being difficult. (He refuses to acknowledge that any of this behaviour might have stemmed from his _own_ influence. Nope. Absolutely not.)

“Liam, stop being stupid. I’m supposed to be remembering the _bridal_ party — you know that group of some of your oldest friends who’ll be expecting me to know at least _something_ about them?”

“ _My sisters,”_ Liam says again.

Louis’ eyes narrow to slits. “Ruth and Nicola,” he says flatly.

Liam finally, _finally_ turns his head — but before Louis can convey any of the righteous fury that’s boiling in his core, Liam grins sunnily at him.

“Okay!” he says, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “You did well.” Just as Louis’ about to abandon all thoughts of road safety and punch Liam in the fucking _neck_ , Liam continues. “Now, tell me who’s getting married.”

Louis takes a long, deep breath — employing the calming breathing techniques his ex had taught him about in uni — and swallows down his fury. Ultimately, he’s got what he wanted.

There’s a wicked look in Liam’s eye that suggests he knows it too, but Louis decides to pointedly ignore it.

“Your fake cousin, Niall,” Louis says. And this is where it gets a little more confusing.

Louis has this much so far: Niall’s family and Liam’s family had lived next door to each other for as long as Liam can remember, and he’d grown up with Niall around twenty four/seven. They had the strange relationship that all children of family friends do. They weren’t friends at school — in fact, they’d attended separate schools. Liam had gone to the neighbourhood public school, but Niall had been enrolled at one of the private schools a little further away — but at home, they’d been inseparable.

And the same could be said for their mothers. When the Horan’s had moved in next door, Liam had explained when they’d first started to prepare Louis for the wedding; Karen had just found out that she was expecting another baby. And when she found out that her neighbour was not only also expecting, but had a son Nicola’s age, she’d been over the moon. Greg and the girls never quite hit it off, Nicola had always been happier to play with Ruth and their dolls than go and wrestle with the boy next door, but Niall and Liam had become life long friends.

“ _Mum says they never really gave me or Niall a choice,”_ Liam had joked. “ _They were always getting coffee and over at each other’s houses and course they had to bring the babies with them so, like, there wasn’t much stopping it_.” 

They’re practically family, is the point. Liam even called Niall’s parents Uncle Bobby and Auntie Maura.

“I don’t know why you’re even stressed,” Liam says, after Louis recites all this back to him “You’re totally on top of it, it’s all sorted.”

Logically, that’s correct. Emotionally, however, Louis’ heart is still thrumming like a hummingbird’s caught beneath his chest. _Wolverhampton,_ a sign on the side of the road whizzes past. _30 Miles._

He says it again in his head as they get closer, and Liam doesn’t seem to mind as Louis gets a little quieter. (In fact, he seems almost _glad_.) Karen, Louis thinks. Karen, Geoff, Nicola, Ruth, Niall, Maura, Bobby. Niall’s got a brother named Greg, who’s going to be at the wedding as well, and a nephew named Theo.

Well, Louis thinks. If all else fails, he’s good with kids. People are always charmed by the guy that makes the toddlers laugh.

He can’t remember Greg’s wife’s name though, but he’ll probably get away with that one. After all, it’s not like he’s actually met any of these people. And while he expects there to be a general expectation that he’s heard of them, that Liam’s talked about all of them while he and Louis were frolicking around Manchester doing couple-y things, he’s sure they’ll introduce themselves when he gets there.

But that’s not what he’s nervous about.

The Horan’s and the Payne’s are so close, is the thing. And Karen had been insistent when they’d spoken to them on the phone. This wasn’t just a day trip — stay for the night so you can enjoy the reception, then drive home with a hangover the following day. Instead, Louis and Liam would be staying for the week — helping set up and organise all the last minute details for the wedding itself, and giving Liam the chance to plan an exceptional bachelor party. (Aside from coaching Louis, Liam had spent the last few weeks obsessing over those plans and his best man’s speech.)

It’s a long haul con, basically, and Louis’ not sure his twelfth grade drama skills were up to the task.

By the time they arrived at Liam’s childhood home, Louis’ heart had leapt right up into his throat. His skin, he was certain, was now a few shades paler.

Liam pulled the car into the driveway — slotting in behind a pretty blue car that almost certainly belonged to one of Liam’s sisters. Another car, this one parked on the street, probably belonged to the other sister. They’d both arrived the night before.

Louis swallows heavily.

Liam drops a hand on Louis’ shoulder, looking impossibly guilty. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says. “I could take you to the train station right now; I’ll buy you a ticket.”

Louis shoots him a weak smile. “You trying to get rid of me?”

Liam rolls his eyes, shaking his head a little. He looks fond though, and he rubs his thumb across Louis’ shoulder. It’s nice, comforting, that Liam is really ready to let Louis leave if this gets too hard. Reassured, Louis takes a deep breath and shrugs the hand off.

“None of that mate,” he says, looking pointedly at Liam’s hand. “We’re dating now, if you want to make me feel better its hand holding or nothing.”

The look Liam gives him is very, very dry — but he holds out his hand nonetheless. Touched, but very careful not to let it show, Louis’ reaches out and takes it. Liam’s palm is super sweaty, and somehow he holds hands the wrong way, but it’s a nice little gesture and Louis suddenly doesn’t feel quite as panicky.

There’s a pause.

“We’ve got to get out of the car,” Liam says.

“Right, yeah,” Louis says.

They drop hands and move to their separate doors. Louis’ packed pretty light, just a simple shoulder bag — and Liam’s only got a small rolling suitcase. As such, Louis is the one who grabs his suit from the backseat.

They pause on the porch for a long, final moment. _Remember to breathe_ , Louis tells himself. _You must remember to breathe_.

“This is going to be fine, right?” Liam says quietly, as they stare at the closed door.

Louis swallows, nodding his head jerkily. “Absolutely,” he says, “Yeah. It’s going to be fine.”

His voice wavers a little bit on the ‘fine,’ but they both ignore it.

“Okay,” Liam says.

“Okay,” Louis says.

They’re silent again, for a beat.

“Hold my hand again?” Louis says.

Liam’s grabbed his hand before Louis’ even finished asking. Then, before either of them can think it through any further, Liam knocks resolutely on the door. This is good, Louis thinks, they’re a united front.

“This is going to be _fine_ ,” Louis says, one final time to himself.

The door swings open.

“Oh,” Louis says.

“Oh,” Harry says back.

 _Alright then_ , Louis thinks as he stares across the threshold at the ex-love of his life. _This probably isn’t going to be fine._

.

_tbc_

 


	2. TWO

Harry looks good.

There’s really no other way to put it, not when he’s shot up about a foot and his shoulders take up half of the open door way. He’s grown his hair out, his curls swept artfully up into a loose bun, exposing the hard lines of his jawbone. His skin’s got colour to it, a healthy tan like he’s been away.

If it were anyone else from Louis’ past he might do a double take — might assume from changes so dramatic that this was a completely different personal altogether — but it isn’t. It’s _Harry_ and there’s no mistaking it.

There’s no mistaking the way Harry’s staring, either. His eyes are wide, stagnant. He doesn’t even blink.

Louis’ stares right back. He can’t even help it, can’t even force himself to drag his eyes away. He just kind of gapes, his jaw hanging loose while he flounders for something, anything, that he could possibly say.

In the end, it’s Liam who comes to the rescue. As per usual. He’s clearly too hyped up to pay too much attention to Louis’ reaction, and is instead frowning at Harry.

“Uh, hi?” he says, perplexed.

Harry jumps, as though startled, and abruptly looks away. His gaze lands on Liam and for a second Harry looks surprised, like he hadn’t even noticed Liam was there.

“Right!” he says. “Right, sorry — you must be Liam, come in!” His voice is an absolute fucking kick in the teeth, low and raspy and just as beautiful as Louis’ remembers.

Harry takes a huge swinging step backwards to make room for them and it’s only when Liam takes a step forward that Louis remembers that they’re holding hands. It’s more out of shock than anything when he follows Liam obediently inside. He’s too preoccupied with the continuous string of _holy shit, holy shit, holy shit_ that’s singing through his brain to do anything else.

Because _holy shit_ how the fuck are they going to do this now?

“Sorry, mate,” Liam says — he uses ‘mate’ for anyone he doesn’t know, always so worried about sounding rude. Louis’ not even sure what he’s apologising for. He sets his suitcase down and turns to Harry again, holding out a hand. “You a friend of Gemma’s?”

Note to self, Louis thinks somewhat hysterically. When memorising the members of a bridal party, pay attention to the bride’s fucking last name. Gemma. Gemma Styles. How the fuck could he have missed that?

Harry nods his head. He’s not even looking at Louis now, instead focusing on Liam with an intensity that Louis’ never seen before. “Yeah,” he says, reaching out to shake Liam’s hand. “Her brother, actually.”

It’s okay, Louis tells himself. His brain is screaming bloody murder, a whirring mess of panic and adrenalin flooding through him, but he won’t let it get to him. He thinks about his calming breaths — steadfastly refusing to think about where he’d learnt that particularly trick — and forces himself to think straight. This isn’t a problem, he thinks resolutely. He won’t _let_ this become a problem; not when Liam’s relying on him, not when anything between he and Harry died so long ago.

Besides, it’s not like Harry being here is somehow going to prove that Louis’ not really dating Liam. Everyone has exes, and sure, it’s bizarre that they’re both going to be at the same wedding but it’s not like everyone else won’t _understand_.

This doesn’t change anything. They’ll acknowledge it, they’ll be adults about it, and they’ll move on.

“And you are?”

Or not.

For a second, Louis doesn’t even realise that Harry’s speaking to him. He actually glances to Liam, to see whether he’s going to reply — before he realises that Liam’s already looking back, watching _him_ expectantly.

So that’s how they’re going to do this then, he thinks numbly; as though they’ve never even met — as though they didn’t spend two years topsy-turvy, head over heels in love with each other. It’s rather like being punched in the gut, Louis thinks. It’s a cliché metaphor, but Louis’ doesn’t really have the emotional capability to do any better — not now, not in the face of this. It takes him off guard, actually, just how much it hurts to figure out what Harry’s decided for the both of them. 

Once upon a time, Louis might’ve been able to read that look in his eye — but now it’s completely indecipherable.

He swallows thickly and feels like being sick.

“Louis,” he says throatily. His voice catches a little and his cheeks flush red. “Sorry,” he clears his throat and tries again. “I’m Louis. Liam’s boyfriend.”

He doesn’t get the chance to see how Harry reacts — not that he should care, not that he’s looking — because Karen chooses that moment to appear. Louis recognises her from the photos he’s seen, the one Liam’s placed around their small flat. She’s a short woman, with light blonde hair and an incredibly kind smile. She practically launches herself across the room to get her arms around Liam.

“Look how big you’ve got!” she says, as she cranes up on her toes to hug Liam.

Liam returns the hug but blushes a little. “You say that every time I come round,” he complains.

Karen pulls back, her frown far too fond to be taken seriously. “Then I suppose you should visit more often, shouldn’t you?”

Liam huffs like he’s heard this all before — which he very clearly has — and turns to motion to Louis.

“Mum, this is Louis,” he says.

She’s not quite as enthusiastic greeting Louis as she was with her son, but it’s a close thing. She takes a step closer, her hands fluttering at her sides like she wants to pull him into a hug but knows she probably shouldn’t. Her smile is blinding.

Louis forces himself to focus. He’s supposed to be being the best boyfriend ever, right? Despite some unforeseen complications, that is still the goal.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Payne,” Louis says.

Karen waves her hand dismissively, as though she’s batting Louis’ words right out of the air. Then she takes another step, reaching out to hold Louis’ hand between hers. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” she says. “Liam’s never brought a boyfriend home before!”

Liam goes a little pink. “Mum!”

Karen’s smile doesn’t falter, but she does take a step back. “Right, sorry, I know,” she says, still grinning wide as ever. She shoots Louis a conspiratorial look. “He doesn’t want me embarrassing him, the little love,” she says. “But I’ve got the baby photos all ready to go for later.”

Liam lets out a groan, and Louis can’t help but smile. It’s good to see Liam and his mum relax, because it helps soothe Louis’ frantic pulse.

“Well, you’ve obviously met Harry,” Karen says — and wow she has _no_ idea. She fusses at the arm of Liam’s jacket. She’s found some miniscule piece of dust or something that obviously isn’t acceptable, and she brushes it off. “The others are out the back, come on, come through.”

She starts to herd Liam through the front room, but Liam pauses. He’s never been one to do things by halves. He lifts his suitcase with one hand, and extends the other one out to Louis.

It’s Liam’s smile that calms Louis down, in the end. There’s a happy, hopeful quirk of his lips, the same exact look that had settled on his face after Louis had offered to do this for him, and Louis feels himself relax. There’s a reason he’s here, after all, and it’s not to mourn long gone relationships. He’s here to help his best fucking friend.

Louis reaches out, twining his fingers with Liam’s once more. Karen lets out a soft cooing noise and Louis thinks he’s done the right thing. He ignores the conspicuous silence from Harry’s corner of the room.

Now with a healthy grip on Louis’ hand, Liam pulls him along after his mother. Harry’s presence behind Louis is as looming as it is quiet as they walk through the house. It’s hard not to notice the heavy footsteps from behind him, especially now that he’s trying his best to ignore them.

It gets a little louder as Karen leads them through the house. Under any other circumstances, Louis would have lingered to look at all the framed pictures of Liam that hang on the walls. It would have been a good laugh, Louis thinks, if his ex-boyfriend wasn’t standing right behind him.

He stays quiet. As they step past the stairs and into the living room, the noise becomes incredibly clear. There are seven more people standing out in Liam’s backyard, chatting jovially and enjoying the sunshine. Louis recognises all but one of them from the pictures he’d spent so much time studying.  

He doesn’t need a picture to recognise Gemma. She had pink hair when Louis knew her, he thinks. Not that it makes much of a difference — but her dark brown hair seems to mock him a little, like the whole universe had worked together to make sure he didn’t realise what he was getting himself into.

She’s laughing, tucked cosily under the arm of the blonde boy Louis knows is Niall. They’re sitting with Nicola, Ruth, Maura, Bobby and Geoff, clearly having a grand old time.

And he’s about to ruin it, Louis thinks. Gemma’s going to recognise him, demand to know what the fuck’s going on and then Louis’ going to have to admit that not only is his ex-boyfriend here, but he _absolutely_ lied about it.

He should have taken that train ticket when Liam offered.

“Karen?” Harry’s voice floats over Louis’ shoulder. He sounds polite as ever, the same way he used to when he’d casually addressed Jay all those years ago. Louis doesn’t miss the confused look Liam shoots him, when Louis’ grip on his hand tightens. “Maybe they should put their bags upstairs?”

There’s clearly no room for the bags down here, not with every available flat surface already carpeted in wedding decorations.

Karen sees his point immediately. “Right you are, Harry,” she says. She turns to Liam and Louis and shoots them a look that might be apologetic if it weren’t for the overwhelming happiness blanketing her features. “I’m sorry; it’s all been so busy I don’t know where my heads got to. We’ve put you in Liam’s old room, so it’ll be a bit of a squish. I hope you don’t mind.”

Liam grins. “Course we don’t, ma,” he says. “It’s not like we’re not used to it.”

There’s a boatload of innuendo there. Liam might’ve been subtler if he’d hired a barge, painted it orange, hung a banner that said ‘ _ME AND LOUIS ARE SHAGGING’_ and then crashed it into his family home.

Karen tuts fondly. “ _Cheeky_ ,” she says. 

“Right,” Harry interrupts. Its kind, if a little abrupt. He slips past Louis, careful to avoid touching him, and then past Liam and Karen. “I’ll tell everyone you’ll be out in a sec, shall I?”

“There’s a love,” Karen says, as Harry slips out the back door. “Oh, he’s such a sweetheart,” she continues, turning to Liam. “He and Niall get along like a house on fire, I hope you like him.”

Liam grins, optimistic as ever, even as Louis feels like sinking through the floor.

“I’m sure we will,” Liam says, obviously meaning every word. “You go on; we’ll be out in a jiff.” He motions for her to join the crowd outside, even while he’s tugging Louis back towards the stairs.

Louis catches one last look as he glances out the glass doors. Harry has rounded the small table where everyone’s seated, and settled a hand on Gemma’s shoulder. He bends, leaning to murmur something in his sister’s ear.

Her gaze snaps to the backdoor, straight through to Louis.

Louis goes upstairs. 

.

“Oh, my god,” Liam says, as soon as the door to his childhood bedroom closes behind them. “Oh, my god, Louis you’re a life saver.”

He dumps the suitcase on the floor and drops onto the small single bed in the corner of the room. He looks a little shell shocked.

Louis should tell him. Louis should absolutely, _definitely_ tell him.

Liam wipes a tired hand across his face. “Did you see the look on her face?” he asks, staring up at Louis. “Did you see how happy she was? She looked at you like you were the second coming of Christ, _god_.”

Louis smiles, and if it’s a little shaky — well, Liam’s not looking anyway. “Happy to help, mate,” he says.

He can’t tell him.

He moves across the room and settles beside Liam, just as Liam lies back across the small mattress. He barely fits, lying length-ways like this, but he doesn’t seem to care.  When he looks up at Louis, there’s a tired look on his face — like seeing his mother react so happily has done nothing more than seal in the guilt.

He’s got enough on his plate, Louis thinks. And it’s Louis’ job to make sure that he _doesn’t_ feel overwhelmed while they’re here, not to create more problems for him to deal with. 

He lets himself drop back, lands next to Liam with a solid ‘ _thump._ ’

“This is so fucking bizarre,” Liam’s voice floats over from beside him.

“What?” Louis says. “That your family believes you nailed someone like me? I know, man, it’s weird.”

Liam lets out a breathy laugh. “Shut up.”

Louis sniggers. “I’m just saying,” he says, shrugging as best he can with the space made available to him. “They’ve got way too much faith in you.”

Liam elbows him. “You’re a dick.”

Louis twists a little to smile at him beatifically. “A dick you brought home to meet your _parents_ ,” he says.

This doesn’t lift the mood quite the way Louis was hoping. Instead of paying attention to the cute joke about their stupid fake relationship, Liam latches onto the fact that he brought a fake boyfriend home to _meet his parents_. Which, from an objective standpoint, even Louis has to admit is totally hilarious.

Liam hides his face in his hands again. “Oh, god,” he says. “I can’t believe I’ve done this.”

“We,” Louis corrects him. “We’re a team now, right Payno?”

“Do you think it’s going to work?” Liam asks, ignoring Louis’ comment.

Louis shrugs. “Course I do. Wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t one hundred percent confident in my mum-wooing abilities.”

Liam blinks at Louis for a halting second.

“Oh, god,” he says again. “This is _never_ going to work.”

And, okay. Louis is hanging on by a _thread_ here, and Liam acting like this certainly isn’t helping him stay calm. If he is going to get through this weekend — lying to his best friends closest friends and family, as well as his surprise ex-boyfriend, while _simultaneously_ lying to his best friend and his best friend’s closest friends and family _about_ said ex-boyfriend — well, then Liam can lie to his mum.

“No,” Louis says, sitting up straight. He grabs Liam’s forearm and yanks him upright, none too gently. “I won’t be having any of that fatalist attitude, Payne.”

Liam frowns, and rubs at his arm where Louis clearly pulled the wrong way on some of his muscles. “Louis,” he says. “What the hell are you—?”

“Confidence!” Louis says over him. He thinks back to one of his favourite high school dramas and channels his inner ‘ _that-girl-who-tried-to-steal-Seth-from-Summer’_. “Confidence is key, Cohen—uhm, Payne!”

Liam shoots him a goofy look _. What the fuck are you on about?_ It reads, loud and clear.

“Look,” Louis says. He pushes himself from the bed and turns around, hands on his hips. “This is absolutely, definitely not going to work if you get all nervous and start acting like they shouldn’t believe us.”

Liam makes a face and his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says sadly.

“Hey,” Louis says. “No — no, none of that. I need you with me! Where’s the guy who just told his mum we didn’t mind sharing a bed because _we’re used to it_?”

Surprisingly, Liam freezes.

In a matter of seconds, his face has turned a startlingly bright shade of red.

“Oh, my god,” he says, looking absolutely horrified. 

Louis belatedly remembers that his best friend is an idiot.

“Oh, my god,” Liam says. “You don’t think they thought _...?_ ”

“Yes!” Louis says. “That’s exactly what they thought, you numpty!”

Liam lets out a pitiful little noise — an odd hybrid between a whine and a groan. He clutches at his face, eyes wide and his cheeks pale. “But that’s my mum!” he says. “Why would she — I wouldn’t say that to my mum!”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well, apparently you would.”

Liam makes the whining noise again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis says. He takes a step forward and tugs at Liam’s arms, hauling him off the bed to a standing position. He straightens Liam’s shirt before reaching up to pull Liam’s hands away from his face. “Okay. Listen. It doesn’t matter if you think this is a bad idea or not — we’re in it now. We’ve already lied — and if you make me explain to your family that I have been lying to them, I will end you Payne — and it will not be pretty.”

Liam swallows. “Okay.”

Louis nods his head. Right. Good. “Okay,” he says. “Now let’s go back downstairs so that I can pretend I don’t want to murder you.” He swings around and heads straight for the door, swinging it open before he can stop himself.

“You’re a good friend, Louis,” Liam says, as he follows him out.

“Oh, I know,” Louis says.

This is fine, he repeats to himself as they march down the stairs. With all this on his mind, he shouldn’t have any time to think about his long lost ex-boyfriend. Harry who?

.

When they open the back doors and step outside, every head swings in their direction save for one. Harry’s taken the free seat on Gemma’s other side and looks far more interested in the sandwich he’s putting together than Louis or Liam. Louis doesn’t let his gaze linger.

He can’t help himself, though, when he looks up to meet Gemma’s eyes. She’s staring back at him evenly, her gaze calculating, and yet somehow she seems completely nonchalant. Certainly, none of the people around her have noticed anything different about her. Although, like Louis said, they are a little distracted.

Niall practically leaps to his feet when he catches sight of them.

“Leemo!” he roars. He throws his arms up, bounding around the corner of the table before anyone can stop him.

Liam catches him with equal exuberance, slapping his arms down around Niall’s back. He’s grinning, the wonderful kind that reaches all the way up to his eyes, as he stumbles from the force of the hug. “Nialler!” he roars back. “S’good to see you, mate!”

Niall leans back, but only with his body. He keeps his grip firm around Liam’s arms, like he doesn’t want to let go.

It’s _adorable_.

“I’d almost forgotten what you looked like, ya knob,” Niall says. His accent is every bit as thick and strong and wonderful as Liam had gushed, and his smile is as wide.

They take a step back and finally release each other. Louis tries not to look as awkward as he feels, surrounded by these strangers and his ex. “Yeah, sorry,” Liam apologises “Haven’t been up in a while.”

Niall punches him gently in the arm. “Don’t leave it so long next time, then, will ya?” He swings an arm good naturedly around Liam’s neck, and his gaze falls on Louis.

Liam follows the look, caught up in the moment for a second before he remembers himself. He flinches.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says hastily. Louis’ not sure if he’s apologising to him, or to Niall. He reaches his free arm out and beckons for Louis to come a little closer. “Sorry, I’m being rude. This is Louis.”

Louis does his best to wipe Gemma and Harry from his mind as he steps forward. He meets Niall’s enthusiastic handshake midway, and relaxes slightly in the face of Niall’s broad and reassuring grin. It’s abundantly clear why Niall and Liam have been friends for so long. 

“You the ol’ ball and chain then, are ya?” Niall says.

“That’d be me,” Louis replies.

Niall claps his free hand down on Louis’ shoulder, and Louis feels like some kind of test has been passed. “Good of you to come, mate. Thanks for dragging this silly bugger up with you.”

Liam pulls a face, his frown dipping hilariously low between his brows. “ _Hey_ ,” he says.

Louis ignores the pout and instead focuses on the lovely thrum of excitement that sings through his veins. This he can do. He’s a veritable expert when it comes to teasing Liam. This is what he _lives_ for.

He shrugs. “Oh, I couldn’t stop him, mate,” he says. He pinpoints the exact moment Liam realises what Louis’ doing and narrows his eyes. Louis presses on, gleefully. “You should have heard him, he was begging and whining. Desperate to see you lot. He cried on the way here, real proper tears, it was not pretty.”

It’s easy, brilliantly easy, to focus on this instead of dwelling on anything else. That’s why he’s here, after all, to mess around with his best friend and make sure that everyone has a good time.

Liam escapes from Niall pretty quickly — easier, considering Niall’s laughing quite hard — and drops a heavy arm over Louis’ shoulders.

“Alright!” he interrupts, as the rest of their family begins to laugh. “That’s enough from you.” He steers Louis sternly to the two empty seats that Karen has scrounged up for them, and glares at Louis playfully. “You’re supposed to be on my side, you sneak,” he says.

His fingers dart out, obviously going for the patented nipple twist — but _excuse me_ , Louis invented that move. He twists his torso out of the way just in time, and shoots Liam an innocent look. “You love me,” he jokes back.

It’s stupid for something like that to be what stops Louis in his tracks. He’s said it one thousand times. He’ll probably say it one thousand times more, as long as he knows Liam. No one else around the table seems to care, laughing at their antics and looking fond as they all settle back around the table. But as soon as the words hit the crisp, summer air the only thing that Louis can think about it is how, once upon a time, he used to say them to someone else.

( _“I love you,” Harry had murmured once. They’d buried themselves under the blankets on their bed and hadn’t left for days — too cold to go anywhere, and too poor to pay the heating bill. Louis — spent, sated, satisfied — had flicked on his phone light just as Harry crawled up, peppering Louis’ body with kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”_

 _Louis had buried his fingers in Harry’s curls, yanked him up for a kiss and said, “yes, I know. You love me.”_ )

Louis shakes his head, closing his eyes for the smallest second as he dislodges the memory from where it’s settled. There lies fucking monsters, thinks Louis.

“Sorry we’ve haven’t done anything grander,” Karen says to Louis and Liam, “but we weren’t sure when you’d be getting in. I’ve got the bread up here if you’d like to make yourself a roll?”

There’s an assortment of ingredients spread out across the table, from butters and jams to some shaved ham, cheese and salad. Instantly, Louis realises how hungry he is. It’s good to have something to occupy his hands with; he thinks as Liam passes him two slices of bread.

He’s sitting at a different end of the table to Harry — can’t even see him now unless he tries. Which is good, Louis thinks, that’s exactly what he needs. He can see Gemma, but now that their charged moment of eye contact has passed, she seems incredibly happy to just ignore him. Not that she gets away with it for long.

“Gems!” Niall says, sitting down in his original seat, squished between his fiancé and Liam. “Meet Liam — Liam, this is Gemma.” He leans over and stage whispers conspiratorially in Liam’s ear. “ _She’s the one who I’ve tricked into marrying me_.”

The hard look on Gemma’s face melts in an instant, and she smiles at Niall looking impossibly fond. Of course, when Niall turns his head to see her reaction, she’s already rolling her eyes.

“Tricked is right,” she says. She leans across to hold out her hand to Liam. “It’s really lovely to meet you, finally,” she says. “Niall talks about you all the time.”

Liam’s cheeks go a little pink. “Good things, I hope,” he says. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t get up to meet you sooner — thank you so much for inviting us.”

Gemma’s eyes flick to Louis for a second, the barest hint of a second, before returning to Liam. The smile on her face is genuine, but there’s something pulling at the corners of her eyes — a splash of disdain just for Louis. Coming from anyone else, Louis might have reacted. When people treat him rudely these days, he’s more prone to respond with an unimpressed look than a scathing retort, but he’s learnt that they have the same impact.

Not here though. It is Gemma’s wedding, after all, and he can’t begrudge her for placing her allegiances with her brother. The annoying thing is that there’s no need for it — not when Harry and Louis broke up the way they did. It was a mutual parting, if a reluctant one on Louis’ behalf. Harry certainly wasn’t the one who had hesitated.

“We’re just glad you could make it,” Gemma says to Liam.

From his angle, Louis can see the way that Niall’s hand has settled on Gemma’s back. His hand is big, wide enough to spread across her shoulder blades — but the touch looks impossibly gentle, like he doesn’t care where he’s touching her as long as he is. He’s not even looking at her.

It’s nice, Louis thinks.

“So — Louis? Was it?”

Louis spins around to see Liam’s sisters — easily recognisable even without the pictures — sitting opposite him. They’re smirking, the same exact way Louis smirks whenever Lottie tries to bring one of her boyfriend’s home. ‘ _Tries,_ ’ being the operative word.

Louis twists in his seat, and subtly squares his shoulders. The siblings were always going to be a big hurdle, he’s been preparing for this. Liam, sensing the oncoming storm, shifts a little to.

(In fact, Louis notes. Even Niall and Gemma have quietened down. The adults aren’t being quite as obvious in their eavesdropping, but apparently this is an exchange they’ve been waiting for.)

“We’re really excited to meet you,” Nicola says, leaning across the table. “Liam’s been telling mum about you for _months._ ”

Liam moves slightly, just the barest inch or so, but it’s enough to really get Louis’ head in the game. In a perfect world, Louis wouldn’t have to be here at all. In a perfect world, Liam would have been able to take the person he’d wanted, instead of having to drag his best friend along to save face. But fuck that guy. This isn’t a perfect world, and Louis can certainly do better than anything _Sean_ might have offered.

“It’s my fault we couldn’t come sooner,” Louis says. “Liam’s been really keen, but works been keeping me stuck.”

Ruth tags in. “Mum was saying you both work at the same school, don’t you?” 

Louis can imagine that Karen’s been saying a lot, actually. He doesn’t mind, doesn’t begrudge her that. In fact, it makes him think fondly of his own mother and her own gossipy ways.

“We do,” Louis says, “He found me on my first day and showed me round the place.” He doesn’t even have to muster up a fake smile for that, but he tries a little harder for the next bit. “Then I just kept following him around. Couldn’t get rid of me, could you?”

He nudges Liam playfully. Mrs. Donovan of sixth form drama would be so fucking proud of him right now.

“Well, it wasn’t quite as smooth sailing as that,” Liam says, throwing a wrench into the works. “Louis was a right terror since day one.”

Louis swats at Liam’s arm. “Excuse you, Liam—”

“No, he was, you should have seen him,” Liam says over him. Louis fights the urge to puff up indignantly and only partly succeeds. Around them, Liam’s friends and family chuckle. “On his third day he was stomping around the place, demanding better funding for the English department. And you should have seen him when he found out the books they wanted him to teach.”

And, well. It doesn’t help Louis sell their grand romance but, like, it’s not exactly untrue.

“They were archaic!” Louis says, absolutely unable to help himself. He turns to the table. “No fourteen year old is going to engage with literature if they’re forced to sit and discuss the Scarlett Letter a million times over.”

“He petitioned the board,” Liam takes over once more. He’s actually doing a rather exceptional job at selling himself as boastful boyfriend. “And then he took it to the parents, who basically decided to back him up.”

“So they changed it?” Nicola says.

Louis allows himself to preen, just this once. “They did.”

“That’s very impressive, Louis,” Karen says from across the table. “This was in your first year?”

Louis nods.

“Had you worked at any school before?” Maura asks — and wow, her accent is as thick as her son’s is.

Louis shakes his head at this, and smiles a little bashfully. “No — my first job out of uni.”

Even thinking about university is enough for Harry to once again cross his mind. It would be nice, to say that he’d left it for a little bit, but it was also be a lie. Harry’s been lingering out of the corner of Louis’ eye since they sat down at the table. He ducks his head, thinking about what else had happened straight out of uni — but very carefully keeps his eyes front.

“You should have seen it, you would have loved it. Now he’s got the headmaster wrapped round his little finger,” Liam boasts.

Louis frowns. “Oh, like you can talk,” he teases. “You were against me the whole way, kept saying I was going to get fired.”

“Well, I thought you were!”

“So it wasn’t love at first sight, then?” Nicola interrupts.

Both Louis and Liam snort in unison, which is apparently more than enough answer for the table. It works in their favour this time, Louis thinks, as he laughs along with them. But that’s probably something they’re going to have to keep an eye on. This isn’t going to work if they can’t stop themselves reacting like that when someone says they’re in love.

Liam is still chuckling. Finally, shaking his head, he sighs. “No,” he says. “It definitely wasn’t love at first sight, was it?”

Time to bring out the big guns, Louis thinks.

“No,” he says, reaching for Liam’s hand and squeezing his fingers. “But I reckon we’re getting there.”

The sharp sound of a chair being scraped across wood interrupts them, and they all look to see Harry at his feet. There’s an odd smile on his face, another in the apparently wide range that Louis doesn’t recognise.

“Sorry,” he says, mostly to Maura and Karen. “Sorry, I just — just remembered I’ve got to go check something.” He smiles again, folding up the napkin from his lap, gently setting it down on the table. In the last second, his gaze shutters over Louis — Louis who’s still holding Liam’s hand like a fucking lifeline — but it passes quickly.

He vanishes inside without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next week, darlings! I hope you like it so far!!


	3. THREE

When lunch breaks up at around three o’clock, Louis is one of the first to start gathering plates. Liam is behind him by only a fraction of a second, already batting at Louis’ reaching hands.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says.

When Louis rolls his eyes it’s got nothing to do with being a good fake boyfriend. He can only imagine his mother’s face if he decided to sit back now and let Liam and his family clean up for him.

Everyone else gets up to help as well, but before long Liam and Niall have shooed their parents away. (“Give your old bones a rest,” Niall had joked to his mum, earning himself a slap upside the back of his head.) So Louis piled his arms high with dirty plates and carried them precariously inside.

He glances around as he walks through to the kitchen but doesn’t catch sight of Harry anywhere. And he’s certainly not going to go looking, no sir. Harry isn’t his concern.

There’s a dishwasher in the corner of the kitchen, Louis notes — but the number of plates in his arms are more than enough to fill it. It’s easier, then, to wash them all now so that they have something to eat off when dinner comes around. He hurries to fill the kitchen sink while the others enter behind him, squirting a healthy dollop of detergent in as he stirs the warm water around.

Liam’s got as many cups as he can carry in his arms, and a handful of silver cutlery that clatters loudly when he sets it down. He shoots Louis a dark look when he sees what he’s doing.

Louis just grins at him smugly. “My hands are already wet,” he says, “and I’ve already put in the detergent. Can’t stop me now.”

Liam’s face twists into an adorable, frustrated frown. “Stop cleaning,” he orders petulantly.

Louis rolls his eyes again. “Stop _whining_ ,” he says. “Go help Niall.”

Niall had just set down another stack of dishes, and really doesn’t need any help with it. Liam shoots Louis a sour look.

Gemma walks into the kitchen, her arms full of all the ingredients they’d used to make sandwiches. It’s clear from the way she briskly begins to put them all away that she knows this kitchen like the back of her hand — but considering the observably close relationship she’s got with Karen and Geoff, it’s no surprise.

“Niall,” she says. She pulls open the fridge to put the parcels of ham away. “Is now a good time to ask Liam about that thing?”

It’s phrased like a question, but there’s something that lingers in her voice that suggests it’s probably not. Cleverly, Niall agrees.

“Too right,” he says. “You mind ducking this way for a sec, Li?”

Liam grins, looking optimistic if a little nervous. “Course,” he says.

As he and Niall vanish out the kitchen door, Gemma closes the fridge with a thud. She walks over to him slowly and settles her hips against the granite bench top. Leaning a few feet from him, she folds her arms across her chest.

Louis, wet up to his elbows in dirty dish water, is trapped.

“So,” she says.

Louis swallows. “So,” he echoes.

He grabs one of the plates, if only to keep his hand busy, and begins to scrub. He keeps his eyes trained firmly on the sink in front of him, full of soapy water and slowly receding bubbles.

“It’s a bit of a surprise, seeing you here,” Gemma says.

It’s absolutely remarkable how similar she is to her brother. Louis remembers fights like these — _god,_ he used to love fights like these. The ones where Harry would come home seething and Louis would pretend not to notice until Harry finally snapped. They’d usually ended with them fucking furiously somewhere unsanitary, way back when. 

But this is definitely not Harry. This is his angry, stressed and fiercely defensive older sister. Louis braces himself.

He smiles shakily. “I can imagine,” he says.

He knows exactly where this conversation is going, but he’s nowhere near brave enough to help it along. He falls silent again and waits for her to continue.

“Liam seems nice,” she says after an incredibly long and uncomfortable minute.

Louis nods. “He is.” That, at least, he doesn’t have to lie about.

“He’s a good friend of Niall’s,” Gemma says carefully.

“I know,” Louis replies. “He’s been talking about this wedding for weeks.”

Louis leaves out the real reason that Liam’s been so obsessive about this wedding. Gemma doesn’t need to know about the hours they’d spent pouring over photos of Liam’s and Niall’s parents. Liam had let his more mercenary teaching techniques come out over the past few weeks and Louis had the results to show for it. Not that Liam had neglected his best man duties in any way. This was _Liam,_ after all.

“Well,” Gemma says. “He is the best man.”

Louis smiles. “He’s got a killer speech,” he says. “I’ve heard it a couple of thousand times, you know. It’s great.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Gemma smiles. It’s a tight, uncomfortable expression. If Louis saw that smile on one of his student’s faces, he’d probably expect to find his car keyed at the end of the day.

There’s a beat. Then another. Louis’ scrubbed this dish within an inch of his life and his fingers are getting prune-y.

“Gemma—”

“Look, Louis,” Gemma interrupts abruptly. “I think we both know what I wanna talk about.”

Louis sets the now pristine plate to the side and braces his wet, sudsy hands on the sides of the sink. “I — I know,” he says. “It’s not going to be a problem.”

Gemma pushes away from the bench and squares her shoulders. Standing in front of him, with her stance set and her scowl stony, Louis feels like he doesn’t stand a fucking chance.

“See,” she says, every bit as vicious as Louis expected. “I don’t know how you can say that after what just happened.”

Louis thinks guiltily of Harry’s retreating back, the way he’d awkwardly stuttered and stumbled from his seat. Louis had seen the tense set of his shoulders. It was something he’d been intimately familiar with, back in the day. Hell, back in the day, Louis would have stripped him of his shirt and rubbed at the muscles himself.

But if Harry really is that angry with him, then there’s nothing Louis can do.

“That wasn’t my fault! He — he said he’d remembered something,” Louis stammers. It’s a poor defence, as weak as it was when Harry had tried it at the lunch table.

Gemma clearly thinks so too, if her withering glare is anything to go by. But then again, in all the time that Louis knew her, she’d never been one for excuses.

Louis takes a deep breath and tries again. “It’s not going to be a problem,” he says, and he means it because it can’t be. He won’t _let_ this be a problem, because as soon as he lets it in — well, he’s not sure he’ll be able to expel it.

Gemma’s stare is calculating, frigid.

“It better not be,” she says finally. “Because if it’s not — I can have you gone whenever the fuck I want.”

Louis’ moves his hands and clenches his fingers down on the edge of the sink. For the first time the overwhelming guilt he’s been feeling is replaced by a flare of fierce anger. It’s a defensive, ugly thing — which isn’t fair, because he gets it, he does. He’d be just as furious if the situations were reversed, if one of Lottie’s ex-boyfriend’s showed up out of the blue with a shiny new girlfriend in tow.

But it doesn’t matter how much he understands because the situation hasn’t been reversed. And as it is, all he can think is that he’s here to look after _Liam_ , that he hasn’t asked for any of this — and he’ll be damned if Gemma fucks that up by sticking her nose in.

He pushes away from the bench and faces her. Gemma doesn’t react to the move, other than the slight quirk of her eyebrow as she takes in the stern look on his face.

“Look,” he says, incredibly proud when his voice doesn’t waver. “I know this is your week. It’s your wedding, and I get that. But I’m here for Liam, and this is Liam’s house. And I’m going to be here as long as he fucking wants me.”

Gemma bristles physically at that. “It’s my wedding!”

Louis bristles right the fuck back. “Yeah,” he says, “and I’m dating the fucking best man.”   His blood starts to sing from the adrenalin. He feels more fired up than he has since he first saw Harry answer the door. “I’m sorry that that makes things - complicated, or whatever. But don’t belittle it just because of this. You don’t get to do that.”

Liam would be so fucking proud of him if he were here, Louis thinks. Although he might have been a bit mortified by the whole ‘swearing-at-the-bride’ thing.

Gemma deflates though, after a second. “I suppose not,” she says, her shoulders slumping and a sour note creeping onto her face. “Sorry.”

Louis feels the fight drain right out of him. He’s been trying, these days, to stop himself snapping at people like that. He’s had to try and master self-control, surrounded as he is by smug teenagers every day of the week. They’re both adults here, and they should be able to talk about this like adults.

“It’s okay,” Louis sighs. “It’s just. Liam’s my — my _person_ , alright? More than anything else. I’m here for him. That’s _it._ ”

“Did you know?” Gemma asks suddenly.

Louis frowns. “Did I know what?”

“When you decided to come, when he invited you,” Gemma clarifies. “Did you know Harry would be here?”

It knocks the breath out of him, the realisation that she thinks he’s capable of something like that. Like he might have seen that she was the bride and seen her wedding as some kind of opportunity to parade around his new relationship. Even if he _were_ really dating Liam, Louis wouldn’t have done that. If he’d recognised Gemma’s name on that invitation — well, there’s definitely no way he would have left Manchester.

“No,” he says. “Didn’t have a clue.”

Gemma purses her lips. “There aren’t that many Styles’ in the world mate. You thought there’d be two Gemmas?”

Louis shrugs. “I didn’t even look at your last name, to be honest,” he says. “Too busy trying to memorise everything I could about Liam’s parents.” That’s not a lie, either.

Gemma watches him evenly, then slowly nods her head. “I believe you,” she says. Louis’ face twists, an instinctive reaction to the condescension in her tone, and she rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I saw you panicking out there. You didn’t know where to look — I guess Haz caught you just as off guard, huh?”

Louis lets out an awkward laugh. He feels thrown off, off balance, at the turn this exchange has taken. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “That’s a word for it.”

Gemma falls silent again, her gaze contemplative.

“It’ll be fine,” she says, after a few seconds. “I’ll stay quiet, Haz won’t make a big deal of it — have you told Liam?”

Louis shakes his head, and rushes to his own defence when Gemma looks surprised. “He’s got enough to stress about,” he says.

Gemma just raises her eyebrow again. She’s got a masterful control of her own facial expressions.

Louis shrugs. “He wants you to like him, I think,” he says — not at all sure why he’s explaining. “Plus the whole ‘meet-the-parents’ thing.”

Gemma sighs and then — for the first time since Louis’ seen her — she actually smiles a bit. “Ugh,” she says, leaning a little so that her hip bumps the bench top. “I get that. It’s like I’m getting a two for one deal with mother in laws. It’s a good thing they both like me, otherwise I might have had to leave Niall at the altar.”

“Hey—!”

They both turn as Niall’s scandalised voice cuts through the kitchen. He steps into the kitchen in a hurry, Liam hot on his heels. “I don’t want to hear none of that talk! What the hell are you two talking about?”

Gemma shoots Niall a look, like she knows everything in the universe and he knows nothing at all. Somehow, it’s fond. “Nothing, babe,” she says.

Niall narrows his eyes at her. “Five days, baby,” he says. “Then it doesn’t matter what you’re talking about because you’re _stuck_ with me.”

Gemma elbows Niall gently in the stomach, leaning into his space instinctively all the while keeping her eyes trained firmly on Louis. She shoots him a soft, significant look.

“Just be nice to him, okay?” she says.

She’s not talking about Liam or Niall — that much is abundantly clear. Well, at least to Louis. She pauses, her eyes boring into Louis’ soul while she watches him. It takes a fraction of a second, but ultimately she seems happy with what she sees. Then it’s finished, the moment and their conversation, and she turns to leave.

“What?” Liam says, coming up to Louis’ side as Gemma swans out of the kitchen. “What does that mean?”

Niall and Liam look confused and Louis enjoys it for a beat longer than he probably should. He just shrugs, and shoots them a smug look.

“Secret significant others business,” he says.

He doesn’t look as smooth as Gemma had, when he waltzes from the kitchen, but he thinks he’s pretty close.

.

He finds out later that while Gemma had been grilling Louis within an inch of his life, Liam and Niall had been making plans.

“We’re just going to grab a couple of drinks,” Liam explains, back up in his bedroom. “There’s this really great little pub a few blocks away — Dad took me there when I turned eighteen, had my first ever beer.”

Liam’s eyes are practically shining as he relives the memory. Louis snorts. “Course _you_ were legal when you had your first drink.”

Louis thinks back on his own first drink fondly — when a kid named Tim had shoved a vodka-sprite into his fifteen-year-old hand, and then shoved him into the closet with a girl named Trish.

Liam pouts.

Louis sighs. “So drinks?” he says, getting their conversation back on track. He doesn’t need to deal with any more puppy eyes tonight — not when they’ve already got him into this whole mess.

Liam lights up again. “Yes! Drinks! Will you come? Harry’s gonna come as well so you won’t be a third wheel. Niall’d really like to get to know you — and we need him to like you because he’ll probably be pissed that I’m going to stay your friend when you dump me.”

“Hey!” Louis says. He pointedly doesn’t think about the first part of that sentence — about the evening he’s signing away to spend lying to his best friend, his best friend’s oldest friend and his ex. Instead, he focuses on the second part. “Why am I the one that’s gonna do the dumping?”

Liam shrugs. “I dunno,” he says. “I’d just figured we’ll say you got bored or something.”

“ _What?!”_ Louis shrieks, scandalised.

Liam gesticulates wildly, spluttering. “Well, I don’t know!” he says defensively. “That’s what would happen!”

The look that Liam gives Louis is so honestly confused that it makes part of Louis’ soul hurt. One day, he and Liam are going to have to sit down and talk all about all the insecurities Liam’s got, left over from his school days. If Louis really were dating Liam — which he absolutely would do if he wasn’t, you know, _Liam_ — then Louis would be mad to let him go.

For now, though...

“No, it’s not!” Louis says hotly. “Why do you want your mother to _hate_ me?”

Liam sighs far, far too loudly for their small little room. “I don’t want her to hate you,” he says.

Louis puffs his chest up indignantly. “Well, _clearly_ you do!”

“Louis, stop being stupid.”

“Stupid?! I’m not being stupid, _you’re_ being st—”

There’s a knock on the door. Louis’ jaw snaps shut and the room falls completely silent for a moment, before whoever is outside knocks once more.

Louis narrows his eyes. “This conversation is not finished, mister,” he hisses over his shoulder as he walks to the door.

Niall is waiting on the other side, grinning enthusiastically. “Ready to go?” he checks.

Louis shoots Liam an incredibly dark look. It’s probably not that subtle, but Louis’ not really worried about that right now. When he turns back to Niall though, his face is the picture of sweetness.

“Sorry,” he says. “Give us five more minutes?”

Niall nods happily. “Course,” he says. Then he points an accusatory finger over Louis’ shoulder, in Liam’s direction. “But no funny business or I’ll know about it. I know all of Liam’s wanking noises.”

His words wash over Louis like the loveliest, warm blanket. He feels a wicked grin spread across his lips. “Is that right?” he says.

Niall looks positively devilish when he smiles back. “Yup,” he says. “Your boy’s been loud since primary.”

Louis can’t see what Liam’s face is doing behind him, but he imagines it’s something incredibly hilarious. He desperately wants to turn around and see for himself, but he has appearances to maintain.

“Oh, the stories I could tell you,” he says lasciviously.

Niall looks gleeful. His eyes have lit up like Louis’ just told him Christmas is coming four months early. He and Louis are going to get on just fine, Louis thinks. He steps back and says, “I’m counting on it, mate.” Then he winks and bounds away down the corridor.

Louis closes the door then slowly turns around, letting his back thump back against the wood. Liam’s face — as Louis had expected — is a rather fetching shade of puce.

“So...” Louis says.

“Shut up,” Liam says.

Louis lets the subject drop, because he’s a good fake boyfriend and an even better best friend.

They head downstairs after three of the five minutes Niall had allowed them. Harry and Niall are waiting at the foot of the stairs. They’ve both changed as well, Niall out of his t-shirt and into a button down top and Harry into a pair of jeans that are _somehow_ tighter than the ones he’d been wearing that afternoon.

Louis swallows thickly and makes sure he doesn’t stare.

Karen’s also standing there, Louis notices while he’s pointedly not looking at Harry. And she’s grinning at Liam like a loon.

Liam looks nervous. “What?” he says flatly.

If anything, the grin widens.

One step to the side, Niall’s face is almost a carbon copy. “Your mum’s offered to drive us,” he says.

Liam balks immediately. “Oh, what—? No, Mum, you don’t have to—”

“—hush!” Karen interrupts him immediately. “It’s been years and years since I’ve got to drop my little boy off when he wants to spend time with his friends, I’ve missed it.”

“We can walk,” Liam says. His eyes have gone big and round, the way they always do when he feels guilty. “Really, Mum, you don’t have to worry — it’s only two blocks!”

Louis can feel his own smile spread out across his cheeks. The flush that’s creeping up the back of Liam’s neck is just too good, Louis’ going to remember this for _years._  

Karen nods. “Two blocks that I am going to _drive_ ,” she says. “Now go get in the car. Niall’s already called shotgun so the three of you’ll have to squish.”

Louis stops smiling.

Of fucking _course_.

He endures the car ride with as much dignity as he can, squished between Liam’s giant shoulders and the car door. (There’d been a momentary dispute getting into the car: “ _Louis, you’re the smallest you have to sit in the middle_ ,” Liam had said, to which Louis had promptly replied, “ _fuck off_ ,” before buckling himself in on the far left.) Harry had looked disaffected when he’d climbed in on the other side, but Louis doesn’t miss the breath of relief he lets out when Karen pulls over on the curb.

“Okay,” Karen singsongs as Louis claws desperately at his seatbelt and practically throws himself from the car. “Drink safe, call me if you need anything!”

Liam gapes at her tail lights and, because he can’t complain to his mother, he settles for the next best thing. He swings his head in Louis’ direction, his chest puffed up and his voice indignantly shrill. “I’m twenty-six!” he practically shrieks.

Louis can’t help himself. He reaches up and snags the meaty part of Liam’s cheek, pinching roughly. “Yeah, you are,” he coos.

Liam flinches back so physically he stumbles off the curb, right into Niall, who’s cackling away. He shoves Liam away playfully, who regains his balance still blushing and rubbing at his cheek, and claps Louis happily on the arm.

“I like you,” Niall says, leading him into the bar. “You can stay.”

The bar is a quaint little spot. It’s tucked neatly on the corner of the block, nestled between a colourful barber shop and the street’s bus stop. Inside, the booths are lined with dark red leather and the air smells like whiskey. It’s a step away from what Louis’ used to, a little more ‘small-town’ than anything Manchester has to offer, but stepping inside feels like a breath of fresh air.

Niall leads them to a corner booth, sitting down and dragging Louis with him. Liam and Harry sit down opposite them, Liam gazing around the pub with wonder. His cheek’s still pinched red.

“Dave redid the bar?” Liam says.

Niall nods. “Yeah,” he says. “There were worms in the wood or something, and it started rotting. You should have smelt it.”

Liam wrinkles his nose. “Worms in the wood?” he says incredulously.

As Niall begins to explain, Louis begins to realise the delicacy of his current situation. Liam and Niall haven’t seen each other in years and are clearly dying to catch up. And Louis can’t begrudge them that, not with the way they’re thriving off each other’s presence. But it does leave Louis slightly to the wayside. And since that’s exactly where Harry’s also been left, it does have the potential to make things a little awkward.

Their eyes meet over the table. Harry looks calculating, the thoughtful look in his eye offset awkwardly by the straight, thin set of his lips. It’s another expression Louis’ never seen before.

Louis swallows, and drags his eyes away. “Well,” he says, interrupting Niall. “I’m going to grab a drink — can I get you lads anything?”

They decide on beers for the first round. It has only just gone past six, and it’s not like they’re pressed for time. The more colourful drinks can come out after the sun’s gone down, Louis thinks. They’re going to need them.

He orders promptly, settling himself on one of the bar stools while the bartender fetches their drinks from the fridge. While he waits he grabs four napkins, pausing to eye the glass full of straws that’s been left on the bar top. The straws are clearly for the cocktails and all the other sweet drinks that come in tall glasses, but that’s not what catches Louis’ attention.

He thinks about a date he’d gone on, in the early days, back when Harry still swept his fringe across his face. Harry, rosy cheeked and barely legal, had sat across the table from Louis and stuck a straw down the neck of his beer. “ _I don’t love the taste of beer_ ,” he’d said, “ _but this always makes it easier to drink._ ”

Louis hesitates. Then he reaches out and snags a straw. When the bartender returns with the four uncapped bottles, Louis smiles and pays and sticks the straw in before he chickens out.

He returns to the table and sets them all out. “There you go, gents,” he says, sliding back into his seat. He takes a swig out of his own drink, and doesn’t let himself turn and see how Harry’s reacted. In the corner of his eye he can see Harry’s left hand on the table. It stays still for a long drawn out second. Louis counts the beats as he drinks from his beer, only setting the bottle down when the hand shifts.

Louis looks. Fuck. Shit.

Harry’s staring right back, his right hand fingering the straw. He doesn’t drink from it, just stirs the lukewarm beer with a thoughtful tilt to his brow.

Louis flushes and ducks his head. He focuses his attention on Niall and Liam’s conversation, doing his best to ignore the heat he can feel creeping up his neck. God, this is awful, he thinks. He hasn’t acted this transparently since, well, since Harry.

Niall takes pity on him though. “So,” he says, nudging Louis in the arm. “How are you finding Wolverhampton?”

Louis shrugs and tries not to show how relieved he is to have something else to focus on. “I haven’t seen much, to be honest.”

Liam explains. “We went through town on the way in but I don’t think Louis noticed much.”

“Well, I was nervous, wasn’t I?” Louis says indignantly.

Niall laughs. “Don’t be scared by Karen and Geoff, mate.”

“Easy for you to say,” Louis grumbles. It’s hard to imagine Niall’s ever met a person that he hasn’t charmed in an instant.

Niall laughs again. “Nah,” he says. “They wouldn’t hurt a fly. Sweetest people alive. You know who _was_ terrifying?” he jabs his thumb in Harry’s direction, who’s been following the conversation til this point with a thin smile on his face. “His mum is a force to be reckoned with, let me tell you.”

Louis doesn’t need to be told. It’s impossible to forget Anne. He’d almost broken Harry’s hand the first time he’d met her, he’d been holding on so hard. She had kind eyes and elegant arched eyebrows, and she’d smirked like she could hear the jackrabbit beat of Louis’ heart. She’d played with him all day, treating him to long silences and thoughtful ‘ _hmms’_ before Harry had sighed — sometime right before dinner — and said, “ _for god’s sake, mum, leave him alone.”_  

The stern line to her brow had broken and she’d giggled and wrapped her arms around Louis’ shoulders. “ _He knows I’m only joking_ ,” she’d said — even though Louis had emphatically _not_ known that. “ _I’d have to blind not to see the way you look at each other._ ”

Louis tries not to let the memory show on his face. There’s a twitch at the corner of Harry’s eye, like maybe he’s thinking of exactly the same moment, but Louis doubts it. He’s probably worried Louis’ going to make a mistake and say something, something that might ruin their carelessly improvised lie.

He looks away.

“Reckon I nearly wet myself the first time Gem brought me home,” Niall is still saying. “I got all sweaty and started stammering — Gems almost died, she was laughing so hard.”

That says something, Louis thinks, because Anne isn’t really that intimidating. She’s just like any other mum who watches _Million Dollar Minute_ and wants to see her children do well. It was the second part that had scared the pants off Louis — knowing that she’d be the first to tell Harry that he could do better if she didn’t approve. It’s nice to know that Niall had been just as worried, just as concerned that Anne wouldn’t like him.

“What about your mum?” Niall asks. “How’d she react to Leemo over here?”

For a moment a part of Louis desperately wants to lie. Liam’s met Louis mum a thousand times — the girls all have friends in the city and Jay likes to visit anyway, especially now that Louis’ nice and settled. Her trips have become a little more scarce now that she’s got the babies to worry about, but she’s been skyping more often to make up for it.

But Louis doesn’t want to tell them that. He tries to justify it, in the few seconds he’s left to deal with his own frantic thoughts — she’d be disappointed if she knew he was lying like this, he doesn’t want to drag her into their mess, he doesn’t —

He doesn’t want Harry to think it’s that serious, a traitorous voice in his head sings out. 

Liam robs him of the decision anyway. “She’s terrifying, mate,” he says — and it’s fine, it is, because Louis shouldn’t have been worried about it in the first place. It’s not like Harry’s going to care. “She could probably take over the world if she wanted to.”

Louis ignores everything else and allows himself to feel smug about that. She totally could.

“Mum’s are like that, I suppose,” Harry says.

His low timbre surprises Louis, although he’s not sure why. It’s not like he’d been expecting Harry to stay quiet the entire conversation, except it appears that some part of him had thought exactly that.

“They’re the best,” Niall agrees happily. He motions his beer in Louis’ direction, grabbing back his attention. “You should get this one to take you around tomorrow, by the way,” he continues. “There’s some good stuff to see.”

Louis shrugs, and looks at Liam expectantly. He shrugs right back.

“There’s nothing planned for tomorrow, is there?” Liam asks Niall.

He shakes his head. “Nah — I reckon tomorrow’ll be the last day we have before Gems starts going proper mental.”

“ _Starts_...?” Harry says. When Louis glances at him, he’s smirking.

Niall shoots him a warning look. “Watch it,” he says playfully. Louis can’t imagine him being so playful with anyone else though — from what he’s seen of Niall so far, Harry’s probably the only one who can get away with smart comments about Gemma without getting a punch in the arm for their trouble. 

“Did you have anything you wanted to do tomorrow?” Liam asks, getting the conversation back on track.

Louis shakes his head.

Liam looks thoughtful for a moment. “We could go down to the park, if you want?” he suggests. “They’ve done the whole place up, put up this really pretty fountain. There’s some nice cafes around there as well, if you want to get lunch? Maybe if the weather’s good we could take a ball down and play a bit of footy?”

Louis smiles at him. Now _that_ he can get behind. (Plus, he’ll never say no to a pretty fountain.) “Sounds awesome,” he says.

“You a footy fan then?” Niall asks.

“Yeah,” Louis replies.

“He coaches a team at school,” Liam says, leaning in a bit closer. He’s doing an absolutely exceptional job at boasting about Louis, to be honest. Where he’s been hiding his acting chops, Louis’ got no idea. “The under twelves?”

“Under tens,” Louis corrects him. He looks to Niall, glances at Harry. “They’re in year four.”

“They’re adorable,” Liam gushes. “I’ve sat on the side while they practice a few times — it’s great to watch.” He fails to mention that the reason he sits through so many of Louis’ practices is because he’s waiting for Louis so they can go out and get drinks at the pub. Which is fair, because it does make the story seem a little less wholesome. “Louis’ a great coach,” he continues. “You should see him, he’s great with kids.” 

“Whoa there—!” Niall says, holding his hands up with a grin. “Don’t get too excited about kids just yet, Leemo. You’ll scare him away.”

Harry clears his throat. “Anyone want another drink?” he asks, standing from the table. He smiles easily down at Louis before gesturing to their mostly-empty bottles. Immediately, Liam and Niall drain the rest of the beers.

Then Niall shakes his head. “Nah, let me get this round,” he says. Louis shuffles awkwardly, moving so that Niall can slide out of the booth seat. Niall looks at Liam just as Louis’ sitting back down. “Come on, Payne,” Niall says. “Come tell me what drink you want.”

“Oh,” Liam says. “Just another beer would be good.”

“Nope!” Niall says. He walks around behind Harry and reaches out, grabbing Liam’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “This is a celebration, dude, I haven’t see you in years. It’s cocktails or nothing from here on in!” He keeps talking grandly, even as he begins to steer Liam away.

His voice fades. Harry stands still for a moment before slowly lowering himself back into his seat. Suddenly, the bar seems very quiet.

(It’s not. Louis’ mind is playing tricks on him, but that might just be because his heart is suddenly thumping three times its normal rate and he’s not getting enough oxygen to his brain, or something.)

“Hey,” Louis says quietly.

Harry smiles thinly. It doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Hey,” he says.

He’s changed so much. It’s not just in the way that he looks, either — although that’s eons away from anything Louis would have imagined for him back when they were together. His neck seems longer somehow, his jawbone sharper. His eyes are electric but they seem colder somehow. Like he’s figured out how to cover the heart he’d worn so brazenly on his sleeve, guarding it now with a cool vengeance that Louis can’t match.

Louis licks his lips, tries to stop staring and fails. “So,” he says. “This is happening.”

In his defence, Harry’s staring right back. “Yeah,” he replies.

That’s another thing that’s changed. The slow, syrupy shape his words take has always been familiar to Louis — but the chilled inflection that laces them now is something entirely new.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says when it becomes clear Harry’s not going to say anything else. “For what it’s worth.” Whether he’s apologising for being there, or for being there with Liam, or even just for being there for this goddamn awful conversation — even Louis’ not sure.

Harry smiles again, something a little more real this time. It still pales in comparison to what Louis remembers though — a fucking ghost of the grin he once loved.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly. “It’s good to see you.”

And isn’t that just a kick in the nuts. Shock hits Louis like it’s something physical, like the words have slammed into him with their full weight, trying to knock Louis completely off his feet. It’s not so crazy, he tries to reason, for Harry to say something like that — but, it is. _It just is._ He imagines his own smile isn’t too lovely, when he tries to muster one up in return.

“You too,” he says.

This situation is so fucked, he thinks. Sitting across the table from someone he’d once planned on spending his whole life with — and now he can barely handle to look him in the eyes. It throws Louis off to realise that this is what they are now, what they’re going to be. Strangers who can’t stomach a single conversation, who manage loaded glances and nothing more.

There’s a moment, a stagnant pause wherein they both seem content to just stare at each other, before Harry speaks up again. It’s the first time he’s initiated and Louis holds his breath.

“Why did—?” he starts.

Niall slams two drinks in front of them with a triumphant shout. Violently purple liquid sloshes over the side as he slides the glasses over. “Lads!” he says loudly. “Got you both a ‘ _bachelorette blush’_ — thought it was fitting.”

This time when Niall sits down, he sits next to Harry. Liam, who’s only a few steps behind Niall, drops down on Louis’ left side.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he says to Niall as he drapes his arm heavily over Louis’ shoulders. He leans close enough that Louis can smell he’s drank a lot more than a ‘bachelorette blush’ in the five minutes he’s been gone.

“Course it does,” Niall says imperiously. 

Liam huffs. “You are neither blushing, nor a bachelorette.”

Louis pats him on the shoulder. “You did shots, didn’t you?” he says. Liam always talks a little differently when he’s had a shot or two, and not in the stock standard slurring drunk capacity. It’s like his drunk self strives for a degree of eloquence that his sober self has disregarded completely. It always leads to a good time.

Liam nods, a goofy grin plastering its way across his cheeks. “One of them had tequila and tabasco in it.”

Louis gags just thinking about it.

Niall whoops. “We’re celebrating!” he hollers.

Louis glances at Harry again. It feels a bit better, at least, to have spoken to him. To have said hello, and to have apologised for the shit storm he’s inadvertently created. So he reaches for his glass and raises it in cheers.

Harry lifts his glass as well, after a second, and Louis thinks maybe _, just maybe_ , they can get through this night unscathed.

.

The night improves from there. As Liam and Niall make their way steadily through all the alcohol that the bar has to offer, Louis finds himself coasting to a comfortable type of tipsy. Liam gets cuddly around drink number five, the way he always does, and then tired around drink number seven, the way he _always does._ It’s obvious that Niall’s prepared to stay a little bit longer, but since Louis’ the one who’s going to have to stay up if Liam starts vomiting, he begs off at around eleven.

It’s still quite warm when they step outside. Liam stays pressed close to Louis side for about two steps, long enough to see Niall bound happily down the empty street, before he’s off. Liam gallops after him like a man with a vengeance, which is absolutely hilarious to watch but does leave Louis with the dull realisation that he and Harry are going to have to walk home together. If the chill in the air hadn’t chased away his buzz, that thought certainly does the trick.

But this is okay. They are big boys. They can do this.

Louis shoves his hands in his pockets as he falls into step next to Harry. This part he remembers well — having to take two steps for everyone one of Harry’s. He’d mastered it early. He keeps one eye out on Niall and Liam up ahead. They’ve got their arms over each other’s shoulders and are valiantly attempting to sing what sounds like the wedding march.

“Liam’s nice,” Harry says.

Louis startles and glances up at him. It’s different to the way his sister had said it a few hours previously. Harry’s voice is light, almost relaxed, and there’s a smile on his face. “Yeah,” he says. “He is.”

“You two met in Manchester?” Harry asks.

So okay, Louis thinks. Apparently they’re doing this now. Louis had kind of assumed that a casual catch up had been taken off the table when Harry had pretended not to know who he was, but this is a nice surprise.

“Yeah,” he says again. “Uhm, right after I moved.”

They both know what that means. _Right after I moved, right after you left, right after_ —

“That’s good,” Harry says. “And you said you work together?”

Louis nods cautiously. “Uhm, yeah,” he says. “Liam’s in charge of the music department, actually.”

“Wow,” Harry replies. He sounds impressed, which is the usual response that Liam gets when he bashfully tells people about his job. He’s younger than all the other department heads — but he’s got the talent to show for it. “What kind of music does he do?”

Here’s another question where extensive pre-emptive studying will come in handy. Louis can’t say he expected to have to use it in this particular conversation, though.

“Guitar is his main thing,” he says. “And singing. But he knows how to play the piano and the cello, and he’s learning the violin.” He’s also got a bit of a crush on his violin teacher, Louis suspects, but he obviously can’t say that.

“That’s cool,” Harry says. “I wish I could play the cello.”

Louis already knows that. Harry knows that Louis already knows that.

They both pretend they don’t.

“Maybe he could teach you one day,” Louis says. If he sounds tentative it’s because he feels it. He’s not at all sure if he’ll be able to share Liam with Harry, even when their fake relationship comes to an end. Or Harry with Liam, for that matter.

Harry hums. “Yeah, maybe.”

Up ahead, Niall and Liam have transitioned to piggybacks. Liam appears to be carrying Niall with an effortless grace that he’s only ever capable of while under the influence. Louis keeps a wary eye on them though, not at all trustful of the wobbly zigzag pattern Liam’s walking in.

“Do you get to work with him much?” Harry asks. “During the day, I mean?”

Louis looks away from Liam and Niall and looks up at Harry again. He looks calm, collected in all the ways Louis isn’t, and genuinely interested. It makes something awful turn in Louis’ stomach. It’s revolting, lying to Harry like this. Harry who used to know every single one of Louis’ secrets, every awful thought that spun around in his head. He deserves better than this, deserves more than being treated like just another stranger Louis can lie to.

“We chill out at lunch breaks most of the time,” he says, because they do and that’s not a lie, not really. “But he helps me put on the school plays and that. He’s a sucker for Shakespeare.”

Liam and Niall choose that moment to turn down their street and disappear around the corner. Suddenly the street seems much quieter. After a moment it seems clear that Harry isn’t going to ask another question, so Louis scrambles to find more to say.

“I don’t think I could handle it if I saw him all the time at school, you know?” Louis says. “Cause I see him at home and stuff.”

Once upon a time, a long time ago, Louis had sat in his uni dorm and panicked about what he might say on a first date. His mother, who’d been incredibly patient with him over the phone, had given him one piece of explicit advice. “ _Just be yourself,_ ” she’d said, “ _and don’t talk about your exes. No boy wants to hear about that.”_

Louis wonders vaguely what his mother might think about the way he’s turned that situation on its head. She’d probably say something like “ _only_ you _could be trying to make your ex feel better about your new boyfriend by telling him that you live together,”_ and she’d be right.

The silence lasts a beat, a fraction of a second. Harry’s replying before Louis has the chance to panic. “Must be nice, having him so close,” he says. 

Fuck, Louis doesn’t want to be having this conversation. In fact, what he’d quite like is to be curled up on his couch with a glass of red and his fluffiest blanket. He doesn’t want to be walking down a random street in Wolverhampton lying to his ex-boyfriend.

Louis makes a noncommittal ‘ _hmmmm’_ noise and leaves it at that.

Liam lopes over to them with a friendly, drunken smile on his face before either of them can say anything else. It’s a testament to how distracted Louis is that he doesn’t notice until Liam’s a few feet away.

“Lou,” he whines. There’s a scrape on his knee that suggests that the piggybacking did, indeed, end poorly. “Lou, I can’t find the keys.” He keeps on coming, doesn’t stop until he’s wrapped around Louis like a fucking octopus. Louis struggles a little under his weight, tips backwards slightly and is just lamenting the bruises he’s going to have when a large hand catches him at the lower back.

Harry steadies Louis and Liam both, holding them upright before he takes his hand away, but Louis doesn’t really notice. He’s too caught up in the heat of Harry’s skin that had leaked through the thin cotton of Louis’ top. He can still feel it, like Harry’s touch had seared a fucking hole in him.

“Lou,” Liam says again. “We have to go back to the bar, I’ve lost the keys.”

He hasn’t lost the keys. The keys are sitting snugly in Louis’ pocket, where he’d put them when Liam — having just finished his second drink — had pulled Louis aside and asked him to take care of them.

“Lou, I’m sorry,” Liam whines.

“Shut up, you limpet,” Louis says. He readjusts, holding Liam with one hand while he digs the other into his pocket. “I’ve got the keys right here.”

The rest of the walk back to the house Louis is too preoccupied negotiating Liam’s limbs for him to pay much attention to Harry. His skin still feels hot though. His cheeks, too. Harry stays on Liam’s other side, not touching either of them but presumably ready to help if anything goes wrong.

“Okay,” Louis says when they get to Liam’s front door. The lights are all out inside, so he assumes everyone has already gone to sleep. “Now all you have to do is be really quiet when we go inside, alright? Can you do that?”

Liam mumbles something inaudibly and mashes his face into Louis’ collarbone. Louis stumbles again, but manages to save himself before Harry has to come to the rescue.

“You right?” Harry asks anyway.

Louis flushes. It’s probably very obvious. “Yeah,” he says, holding Liam still with a stern hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’re good. He’ll be out like a light soon as we get upstairs.”

Liam snuffles and presses in closer. His wet breath smells stale, like all the wrong kinds of alcohol mixed together.

Louis doesn’t need to ask how Niall’s doing — he’s sitting sedately on the stairs to his own house, a few metres over, waiting patiently for Harry. He’s swaying a bit, head stretched backwards and squinting at the sky. Louis’ not really surprised that the first time he’s seen Niall act calmly is when he’s three sheets to the wind and staring at the stars.

“Thanks,” Louis says, “for helping me get him home.”

“Anytime,” Harry says, without pause.

Louis smiles. Good to know some things haven’t changed, at least. “Okay,” he says. He turns to momentarily assess how he’s going to get Liam through the fucking front door, before looking back to Harry. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Louis,” Harry says.

And Louis thinks that’s the end of it. He really does. The next few minutes of his attention are devoted solely to Liam, and to getting him inside the house. Louis mutters under his breath while they move, silly things like “ _of course, you’re trying to sleep now,”_ and “ _how ‘bout you work with me,_ _you great lug_?” It takes some work but they manage it well enough. Liam slumps against the front room wall, while Louis turns around to close the door behind them.

But Harry’s still standing on the porch when he gets there.

Louis opens his mouth — to say what, even Louis doesn’t know — but Harry beats him to it.

“Sorry,” he says, startling like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His cheeks tinge pink and Louis thinks that this is the most recognisable Harry’s been all day. But then, Louis doesn’t have much time to think about it — because what Harry says next knocks him completely off his feet.

“Sorry, I’m just—” Harry continues awkwardly. “I’m just really happy you’re happy, Lou.”

A kick in the teeth would have been kinder, Louis thinks.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing positive feedback for this fic. It's been overwhelming and all your comments and kudos and messages on tumblr have been the literal highlight of my last few weeks, so I hope I can keep delivering. 
> 
> See you all this time next week! xx


	4. FOUR

Louis wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and a foot in his back.

“Ow, Jesus _fuck_ —!” he says, right as Liam lands with a heavy _‘thump!’_ on the floor next to him. His feet are tangled in the blankets Louis had been sleeping under, which means that Louis — who had five seconds ago been dozing peacefully in a cocoon of warmth and comfort — is now starkly exposed to the chilled morning air. “Motherfucker, Liam!” Louis snarls.

Liam, face down in the carpet, groans pitifully. “Sorry,” he says.

A quick glance at his phone tells Louis that it’s just past six in the morning. _Splendid._

“Why the fuck are you up so early?” Louis hisses. He brings his voice down, now mindful that the rest of the house is probably still asleep.

Liam pushes himself up to his elbows. His eyes look remarkably bright for someone who should be waylaid with a hangover, but Louis’ not surprised. Liam never gets hangovers. Because Liam’s an arsehole.

“I’m going for a run,” Liam says. He’s distracted though, too busy taking in Louis’ set up on the floor. “Why are you on the floor?”

Louis shoots him a sour look. “Because someone got fucking plastered last night and took the bed _in spite of_ our original plan.”

The original plan had been for Liam to take the floor while Louis took the bed. Liam had said it was the least he could do, after forcing Louis to come down and pretend to be his boyfriend. Besides, the bed’s too small for Liam anyway. He’s long since outgrown his sixteen year old self, and his legs hang off the edge all the way past his ankles.

Liam’s face twists into something remarkably sad and guilty.

Louis feels his resolve soften. Goddamnit, he thinks. This is why Liam’s the worst person in the world to be angry at — no one can glare at his puppy dog eyes for long.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says. “You should have kicked me off.”

Actually he shouldn’t have, because the only thing that would have done is make Liam sad, and the only thing worse than a sad Liam is a sad _and_ drunk Liam.

“Ugh,” Louis says, deflating. “No, it’s fine. You would have had a terrible sleep down here anyway.”

“We could have squished!” Liam says.

And they could have. They have done before, after all. But Louis is resolute. “No,” he says. “I know what you said to your mother, but I’m putting my foot down. It’s time for you and me to leave a little space for Jesus.”

Liam goes a little pink as he clearly recalls exactly what he did say to his mother.

“Okay,” he says, “but you’re sleeping in the bed tonight.”

Louis snorts. “You’re damn fucking right I am,” he says.

Even as he speaks, he’s grabbing his pillow from the floor and tossing it up onto the recently vacated mattress. Scrubbing at his eyes, he pushes himself to his feet, gathers up the blankets he’d been sleeping on and flops onto the bed. It’s not as pleasant as he’d like. His face laces in a wet spot he’s fairly certain is Liam’s drool.

Louis grumbles a little bit, but doesn’t complain too much. Liam leaves him, slipping out the door. He takes his running gear with him, so he’s probably just ducked to the bathroom to get changed. But that doesn’t matter to Louis. He settles a few inches away from the spit puddle, closes his eyes and waits for sleep to reclaim him.

Only, by the time Liam gets back, Louis is still not asleep. Instead, he’s rolled onto his back and is stubbornly glaring at the ceiling.

“You right, bro?” Liam checks as he starts clipping his iPod to his shoulder.

Louis turns the glare on him. “You woke me up,” he says icily. “And now I can’t sleep.”

Liam looks apologetic for a grand total of five seconds before a hopeful little smile sneaks onto his face. “You wanna come running with me?”  

Louis scrunches his nose up. Outside the window, it looks like it’s going to be a rather nice day. The sky is the kind of grey Louis knows will turn to blue by nine, and it’s been warm the last few days. Going on a run doesn’t sound too awful — and it certainly sounds better than lying in sheets that are cooling with Liam’s sleep sweat.

“Yeah, alright,” he sighs. He hauls himself up and out of the bed, and plants his feet firmly on the ground. His body doesn’t even protest that much, clearly ready to get started with the day. “Didn’t bring any running stuff with me though, you got any spare?”

Liam lends him an old t-shirt and some sweatpants. They’re a couple of sizes too big, but Louis bares the baggy fabric with the dignity only someone who’s used to being quite small can manage. He double-knots the string at the waist of his pants to make sure that they don’t fall down while he jogs, and rolls both legs up a few times so he can see his feet.

They creep down the stairs and outside with much more finesse than they’d managed the night before. When they step outside, the air is crisp and slightly chilly. But Louis was right about the kind of day they were expecting. The sun is just beginning to peek over the roof of the house opposite Liam’s, bringing with it a gentle early morning warmth.

“It’s only about a three mile run,” Liam says as he plugs one of his headphones in. “That sound alright?”

Louis shrugs. There’s only one way to tell, right?

Getting to the park isn’t too difficult. Louis doesn’t mind running, to be honest. The only thing that stops him from joining Liam on his jogs back at home is the lack of motivation to get out of bed any earlier than he physically has to. But now that he’s awake, it’s not so bad to get his blood pumping and his heart rate up.

They don’t talk much as they run. Liam’s got his music on, probably listening to the ‘ _TALK SHIT, GET FIT’_ playlist that Louis had named for him some time the year before. Louis focuses on his breathing, instead of any of the thoughts that try and vie for his attention.  

The park, when they get there, is just as nice as Liam had said it would be. It’s not much — just a block that’s been cleared of houses and covered with bright green grass — but it’s definitely the kind of place Louis would bring his family to hang out if they all had the day to spend with each other. There are park benches littered around, a couple of built in barbeques and a stone fountain. There are colourful flowers and green bushes and clumps of trees around as well.

Over to the side, Louis can see a playground. It’s free of children this early in the morning, but Louis can imagine it’s quite popular when the sun’s a little higher. It’s got the classics — some monkey bars, a slide and a see-saw — but it’s got some of the cool modern attractions that Louis’ generation had missed out on. It’s fenced, probably to stop kids from wandering off, and the floor underneath all the equipment is that rubbery, sponge-y stuff that doesn’t hurt the kids when they fall.

Louis’ sisters would go mental here, he thinks.  

The stitch he gets in his stomach as they jog across the little bridge is annoying, but not unexpected. He really hasn’t run in a while. Besides this is as nice a spot as any to stop and have a rest, he thinks.

He slows his pace, batting at Liam’s arm to get his attention before pulling to a stop altogether.

“You right?” Liam checks, tugging one of his headphones from his ear. He’s breathing heavily, but clearly doing much better than Louis is. In fact, he’s jogging a little on the spot and, even while he waits for Louis’ reply, he brings his hand up to take his own pulse.

Louis rolls his eyes. Liam’s always been a bit of a nutter for proper fitness, raving on about heart rates and cholesterol and what not.

“Yeah, yeah,” he pants, bending over to brace himself on his knees. The stabbing pain in his side has settled mostly, now that he’s stopped. “Just got a stitch.”

Liam looks concerned. “Do you need some water?” It’s not really a question — that much becomes clear when Liam thrusts his drink bottle in Louis’ face and shoots him an incredibly serious look.

Louis has a drink. It’s nice. Liam has the best ideas.

He hands the bottle back to Liam and wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he says. “You keep going, I’m gonna rest here for a bit.”

Liam looks a little wary. “You sure?” he says.

Louis waves him away. “Yeah, course,” he says. “Go on. Come find me when you’re finished, I’ll be here.”

Liam watches him for an extra moment before he nods. Then he’s putting his headphones back in. “Don’t forget to stretch!” he shouts over his shoulder as he begins to run again.

Louis rolls his eyes and drops to the ground. He does as he’s told, though. He spreads his legs, leans forward to touch his toes, holds his elbows behind his head, and all the other stretches he can remember. When he’s done and his heart rate has gone down a little, he leans back and settles in the grass. It’s nice and soft, if a little dewy, and the cool chill of it soothes Louis’ sweaty muscles.

It’s the first time he’s been alone with his thoughts since he’d gotten into Liam’s car back in Manchester. And boy, does he have some thoughts.

The first of which is Harry. Because of course it’s Harry. Although Louis has been doing better in the last few years, Harry’s always lingered somewhere in Louis’ head. Whether it was in the first few months — the bad ones, when Louis couldn’t leave the house without searching for his absent head of curls — or this last year, before all of this, when Louis sometimes went weeks without thinking about him.

He had been doing better, damnit.

But there’s no time to bemoan the situation he’s found himself in — he did enough of that yesterday. Now is the time for a plan, to figure out a way for Louis to get through this weekend with even the slight hope of regaining the progress he’s made.

After all, Harry has clearly moved on. His refusal to acknowledge their past relationship speaks to that. And it helps, kind of. (Louis doesn’t think about how it also hurts to learn how easily Harry can disregard everything they’d had, because he can’t do anything about that. And don’t even get him started on ‘ _I’m really happy you’re happy’_ ).

Louis thinks about a game plan for about four seconds, before he’s interrupted. A shadow passes across the sun that’s warming his face, and he assumes its Liam back from his run early. He scrunches up his nose and opens his eyes, ready to snap — and then promptly freezes.

God, why is Wolverhampton so fucking small?

“Hey,” Harry peers down at him. He’s standing right in front of the sun, so Louis can’t see the details too clearly, but he can see the important things. His hair is out this time — it’s long, much longer than Louis had thought, curling softly across his shoulders and collarbones. He’s also wearing possibly the shortest pair of shorts known to man. The creamy white-pink of his thighs is far, far too close to Louis’ face.

Louis’ throat goes incredibly dry. “Hey,” he croaks.

“Sorry,” Harry says. “I was doing some yoga, but I saw you over here and I thought I’d make sure you weren’t dead.”

Louis smiles shakily. “Right,” he says. “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” Harry echoes quietly. He pauses, hesitating for a second and biting down on his lower lip. While Louis is busy shaking an imaginary fist at all the events that have led him to this moment in his life, Harry evidently makes up his mind. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asks.

Ah, Louis thinks. This is certainly going to mess with his plan.

Still, never let it be said that Louis Tomlinson isn’t a masochist.

“Sure,” he says. He motions to the clean space of grass next to him. “Go for it. You can keep doing your yoga, or whatever, if you like.”

Harry looks thoughtful. “I might, actually,” he says with a small smile. “Thanks.”

Then he sits down just next to Louis and stretches his long legs out in a wide, open v. His thigh muscles pull obscenely at his shorts. Louis’ mind is swarmed with images, questions, memories. How many times has he been cradled between those thighs, how many times has he kissed and bitten and licked that pristine, peach-pink skin? Louis swallows dryly and forces himself not to stare.

Harry doesn’t stay still for long. He reaches forward, bending his entire torso over his lap as he reaches for the toes of his left leg. He practically folds himself in half.

Louis licks his lips unconsciously, because apparently Louis is a huge pervert.

“So,” Harry asks, his lips brushing his own knee as he talks. “How have you been?”

Really, Louis thinks. _Really?_

It takes a few tries for Louis’ brain to come back online, but he manages it eventually. “Uhm,” he says. “I’ve been good. You?”

Harry nods into his knee, before leaning up and switching to the other leg. “Good,” he replies. “Yeah, great.”

Louis is so, so out of his element. Which is awful because Harry used to _be_ his element. “That’s good,” he says quietly. Then, because he refuses to be the one who lets this conversation peter out, he says, “Niall is really nice. Gemma seems really happy.”

Harry lights up at that. Not in the overt way other people might expect, but in the way Louis remembers from those times he’d been smart enough to surprise Harry with flowers or a restaurant dinner. It’s a subtle excitement, a small crease at the corner of his eyes and a content little smile on his face. “She is, yeah.”

“How’d they meet?”

“I knew him first, actually.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “He used to caddie at this club I worked at. He’s really good, but some of the guys he did the circuit with were absolutely rubbish.” Louis assumes that Harry’s talking about some kind of country club which means that this is certainly after Louis’ time with him. It’s not as though Louis hasn’t been expecting it — he didn’t know Niall, after all, so clearly he and Harry had met in the years after the break up — but something in his tummy turns. He doesn’t get the luxury of lingering on the feeling though, because Harry is still talking. “They kept pelting balls every which way, so he had to rush around after them and apologise to everyone.”

“He still work there?” Louis asks. He would have quit after one day of that shit.

Harry shakes his head though. “Nah, he was just there for the one summer,” he says. “He’s into music, same as Liam.”

Louis looks away when he hears Liam’s name. It’s an abrupt, instinctive move, one that his high school drama teachers would have been fucking ashamed of. He doesn’t know why he cringes every time Harry so much as mentions Liam’s name. Or maybe he does. _I’m really happy you’re happy._

Even though there’s absolutely no way that Harry could have missed Louis’ move, he does a valiant job at pretending. He keeps talking like Louis hasn’t even reacted.

“He just got a new job at this production company,” he says, about Niall. “He’s been stoked about it.”

Louis smiles a little weakly. “That’s sick,” he says, still very aware of the red flush that’s settled high in his cheeks. “Good for him.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “He deserves it.”

Remember the game plan, Louis’ thinks. He’s better than this; Liam is _relying_ on him to lie better than this, so he can’t let himself be flustered by the sound of Liam’s name. No matter who it comes from.

“So,” he says when Harry stays quiet for a beat too long. “What were you doing at the club? When you met him?”

“Bartending,” Harry says easily.

“Bartending?” Louis repeats. He can’t fight the surprise from his face — and this time, that’s all there is. Just plain, old fashioned surprise.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I’d only just got back from, uh, being away, and I was dirt broke. Didn’t love it, but at that point I’d have done just about anything.”

Louis isn’t paying much attention by the time Harry’s finished. _Being away._ They can probably add that to the metaphorical list of things that they’ll avoid talking about, because even those two words make Louis’ feel a bit ill.

“Right,” he says, fighting to act casually. “I didn’t even know you knew how to bartend.”

And god, his brain is such a fucking mess. Because of course Louis didn’t know that — because it’s been years since they were anything to each other and Harry had lived every single day doing something that Louis doesn’t know about. But thinking about it, facing that knowledge and looking it in its kind green eyes, makes Louis feel nauseous. Like he wants to run right the fuck out of the park and hide in Liam’s room until it’s time to go home.

And the half of him that can handle that is the very same part that’s struggling so hard with the _being away_. Because the time when Harry had gone from _being there_ to _being away_ was so much more than just Harry being away. And Louis can’t talk about that, not without reliving every vile thought and emotion that he’d had at the time, not without thinking of those last few weeks before everything had disintegrated before his very eyes. (Not without lingering on the thought of those nights that Louis had held Harry in his arms, buried his face in the skin at the nape of Harry’s neck and thought, ‘ _I wish you would stay_.’)

Harry apparently doesn’t get the memo.

“I learnt in Prague,” he says. “I’d run out of money then, too, and this guy I’d met over there got me a job in his dad’s nightclub to tide me over.” He grins at Louis then, like they’re sharing a fucking joke.

Given the choice between standing up and scarpering, and changing the subject, Louis chooses the latter. It’s a close thing, though.

“So you introduced them?” he asks. His voice is astoundingly level, compared to the chaos that’s taken over Louis’ higher thinking. “Niall and Gemma?”

Harry notices — Harry _always_ notices — but he doesn’t say anything. He just nods his head and rolls with it. “Yeah,” he says. “Brought him round to my place for dinner once while she was visiting. He was gone for her pretty much straight away. It was awful.”

Okay, Louis thinks as his heartbeat settles again. This he can handle. He manages a small, only slightly hollow laugh. “Can’t be that bad,” he says. “Not when they’re four days from saying I do. I remember—”

 _I remember how you are at weddings._ God, Louis can _not_ get his foot out of his fucking mouth. He’s never talking again.

He saves himself in the final second.

“—how you were with Gemma. He must be cool, you know, for you to, like. Approve.”

Harry has a look on his face — and he’s been mostly unreadable to Louis since he’d opened Liam’s front door, but this one Louis recognises. And even though it’s abundantly obvious that Harry knows what Louis had been going to say (and _God,_ Louis had forgotten what it was like to know someone so well, to be a kind of transparent that he’s never been with anyone else), Harry just goes with it, _again_ , because he’s always been so fucking kind.

“I don’t think she’d give a shit if I approved or not, to be honest,” he says. “Which is kind of why I do. I mean, I trust her and she’s sure. That’s all there is to it.”

Louis really, really misses this smart, resolute boy.

“That makes sense,” he says. He thinks about his own sisters, just to stop himself from thinking about Harry. “Not sure I’d know how to handle that.”

“How _is_ your family?” Harry asks.

Good, Louis thinks. This is easy. This he can do. “Good,” he says. “They’re good. Mum’s got married again.”

Harry smiles, a wide, happy thing this time. “Really?” he says, surprised. “To Dan?”

It’s been three years and Harry can remember the name of Louis’ mum’s boyfriend without a second’s pause. Louis has to bite on his tongue to stop himself reacting. He blinks a few times, takes a moment to recover, and then smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “And they’ve added two more to the brood, would you believe.”

“What?”

Even so much as Harry has changed, Louis recognises that face. That’s Harry’s baby face — he should have started talking about the twins much earlier, and saved them all the awkwardness.

Besides, Louis loves gushing about the twins. It’s a blessed distraction. “Yeah,” he says. “Twins again. Doris and Ernest.”

Harry’s eyes shine. “You’ve got a little brother?”

Louis wipes his entire mind and allows himself that moment. “Yeah, _finally._ You should see them—” he flushes when he realises that that is definitely not going to happen, but he handles it a little better this time and keeps talking. “—they can charm the pants off anyone in a five foot radius, I swear.”

“Definitely related to you then,” Harry says.

Louis definitely does not gape. “Uh—?”

“How old are they?” Harry asks.

“Nineteen months,” Louis replies.

Harry leans a little closer — which is feat, considering the yoga position he’s currently assumed. “Do you have any pictures?” he asks. 

Louis doesn’t. His wallet and the sweet little photos that live inside it are currently lying on the top of his suitcase. He doesn’t get the chance to explain, though, before he notices Liam over Harry’s shoulder. He’s red and sweaty and probably smells awful, but the sight of him is a blessed relief. He’s not certain how much longer he could have survived this conversation.

“Liam!” he calls out, lifting his hand and waving. “Liam, over here.”

Liam’s next to them in second, breathing heavily and sweating like a whore in church. “Hey,” he pants, bracing himself on Louis’ shoulder. His legs are wobbling a little bit, the way Louis’ had been when he’d stopped an hour earlier. Then he lifts his head and smiles at Harry as best he can. “Hey, Harry.”

Harry smiles right back. “Hey Liam,” he says. “Good run?”

Liam nods instead of replying, clearly still fighting to control his breathing. He’s got his goofy grin on, though.

“Harry was doing yoga,” Louis explains to him, for absolutely no reason at all.

Liam makes an impressed noise. “Good for you, mate,” he says. “I’m rubbish at yoga.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “But you’re rubbish at a lot of things.”

Liam shoves at his shoulder and knocks him back into the grass.

“Oi,” Louis grumbles as he rights himself. “Watch it.”

Liam smiles at him fondly, before looking to Harry. “Well, I hate to steal him from you,” he says — and oh boy, does Louis wince at _that_ particular phrasing — “But I accidentally woke this one up this morning, so I owe him a coffee.”

Louis brightens at that. Coffee he can definitely get behind.

He takes the hand that Liam offers and climbs to his feet. “Careful,” Liam admonishes as Louis stands. “You’re gonna get grass stains all over my clothes.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Stop being such a cry baby,” he says, brushing at his knees. There’s not a mark on them. “They’re fine.”

Liam looks sceptical, but Louis ignores that and turns to Harry. He’s gotten to his feet as well and is paying a great deal of attention to the phone in his hand.

“Do you wanna grab a cuppa with us?” Liam offers.

It’s only then that Harry looks up from the phone. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before, and Louis wonders what Harry could have possibly just seen on his phone to cause it.

“Nah,” Harry says. “I’ve gotta get back to the Horan’s, me and Gemma are cooking them a full English. And then I’m gonna help with the shopping for dinner tonight.”

“There’s a dinner tonight?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Maura and Bobby are doing a roast at theirs.”

Liam looks incredibly excited at that news. “Really?”

“Really, _really_ ,” Harry says.

Louis misses him a lot, a lot.

“Well,” Louis says briskly. “I suppose we’ll see you there!”

He drags Liam away before his traitorous emotions can get the better of him, but he can’t quite fight the sinking feeling that he’s fighting a battle that’s already been lost.

.

Spending the day with Liam is exactly what Louis needs. Not only does Liam pay for their breakfast — a full English for Liam, and for Louis two slices of brioche French toast with a side of vanilla bean ice cream and _whipped nutella_ — but he’s also happy to spend the afternoon away from the house. Louis doesn’t even have to explain why, doesn’t have to say _‘I feel like if I stay there too long I might actually suffocate’_ , because Liam already gets it. So instead they linger at the park. A group of kids who look around fifteen or sixteen pull out a football at around eleven and, after a few minutes of wary looks, happily allow Louis and Liam to join them. They split up, Louis and a couple of the younger boys versus Liam and the rest, and it’s a fairly even match even if neither of them takes it particularly seriously.

It’s so, so great not to think for a while. Not only does Louis finally, finally have the chance to relax and not dwell on Harry for a few hours — but hanging out with Liam reminds him why he’s doing all this in the first place. About halfway through their second match the kids give up on trying to beat Liam’s goal defence and decide that his broad shoulders are more suited to piggy back rides. And while Liam’s staggering around in the grass and balancing two fifteen year olds on his back, he cracks the first genuine smile that Louis’ seen in a long time. (Not that he hasn’t been smiling, that’s stupid. He smiles at Louis and he smiles at his mum but that’s not what Louis means. There’s a difference between the way Liam smiles at his friends and family and the way that he smiles for himself — and he hasn’t smiled properly for himself since Sean had stomped all over him.)

Louis’ team wins the first match and Liam’s wins the second. The younger boys beg off after that and Louis decides he wants to see Liam’s primary school.

“I guess we can walk past it,” Liam says finally, after they spend a good ten minutes arguing about it. “But we can’t go in. It’s the middle of the day on a Wednesday, it’s gonna be full of kids!”

Louis hops on his back. Liam catches him easy as anything, with a frustrated sigh.

“So what?” Louis says, readjusting his grip on Liam’s shoulders. “We can totally walk in and ask for the tour.” He squeezes his legs around Liam’s hips and smirks. “Go on — mush!”

Liam grumbles. “You know much isn’t actually the word they use, right?” he says. “That’s just Hollywood lying to you about dog sledding.”

“ _Mush_!” Louis says.

Liam mushes.

They don’t quite manage a tour when they get to the school, but they do get to walk around the block. Liam points out a few places that used to mean something to him — “I had my first kiss right under that tree,” he says, “I was in year six and the teacher on duty saw and we got detention because we were too young or something,” — before he eventually reminds Louis that they should get home to get ready for the dinner at Niall’s parents house.

They get home at around three in the afternoon. Karen wrinkles her nose at them when they come in and takes just enough time to tell them that dinner’s at six before she’s rushing them in the direction of the shower. Louis honestly can’t blame her; she must have grown used to the absence of Liam’s smelly pits since he’d move out. That’s a potent odour to have to remember all of a sudden.

Louis takes the first shower anyway, and then has a nice little power nap while Liam’ in there. By the time six o’clock does roll around he feels far better, a comforting ache in his bones from running around all day and a peaceful kind of anticipation at the thought of seeing everyone again at dinner.

They’re friends now, is the thing. If their conversation that morning means anything, it’s that Harry is still remotely interested in Louis’ life. And maybe he’s not interested in a romantic capacity anymore — and maybe there’s a part of Louis that thinks that fucking sucks — but it’s better than nothing. It’s far better than what Louis thought he’d have to deal with, Harry ignoring him and any semblance of a relationship that they’d once had.

It’s not so bad, Louis thinks. He’ll see Harry a lot over the next few days — but after the wedding they’ll part on good terms and go their own way.

The same way they had at that airport, a bitter part of Louis sings, because that had worked so well the first time.

They head down stairs for dinner around five thirty. It’s kind of hilarious watching Karen and Geoff lock up the house so they can walk twenty metres to the right for dinner, but it’s kind of sweet at the same time. It would be nice to live next door to your best friend, Louis thinks, to have them there whenever you need someone to talk or vent to. Hell, that’s one of the reasons Louis loves living with Liam so much — whenever he has a bad day at work he just pushes his way into Liam’s room and pancakes on the bed until Liam gets home. Then it’s an evening of takeout pizza and sweaty cuddling and Louis wouldn’t change it for the world.

Maura and Bobby’s house is the same kind of elegant quaint as their neighbours. There’s one thousand and one photos decorating every flat surface available, and an equal amount of little Irish flags all over the place — but it’s sweet and endearing and Louis can imagine Niall growing up here with ease.

Maura and Bobby have cooked them a veritable feast, Louis realises as they step into the kitchen. A beautiful oak table is set out with more food than Louis could hope for and he abruptly remembers that he hasn’t eaten since his and Liam’s cafe breakfast. They all settle quickly while Bobby brings out the last of the meat he’d been cooking on the grill, and Maura tells them to dig in.

“So,” Maura says, as she spoons some mash out onto her own plate. She shoots Niall and Gemma a devious little look. “Any nerves setting in yet?”

Niall rolls his eyes fondly at his mother and reaches out to take Gemma’s hand. His thumb strokes over the top of her fingers as he shoots Maura a challenging look. “Not even a little,” he says. Louis hasn’t known him long enough to be able to tell whether or not he’s lying, but there’s something challenging in the set of his brow that Louis trusts.

Gemma’s got a sneaky little smile on her face, the same subtle and content look that Harry would always get when he used to trick Louis into giving him foot rubs.

“I’m pretty excited actually,” Niall says, looking round at the rest of the table. “Bachelor party’s tomorrow night, lads!”

Liam grins. “We haven’t forgotten,” he says.

“I should hope not,” Karen interrupts. “You’re the one who’s organised it.”

The table has a little chuckle. Liam smiles good-naturedly. “Well, I’d tell you how brilliant it’s going to be but it’s a surprise, isn’t it?”

Niall’s eyes are practically shining with his excitement.

Gemma tugs on his hand. “Hang on,” she says. “The bachelor party is the only thing you’re excited for?”

Niall backtracks very quickly, valiantly ignoring the chortles of the people sitting around him. “I’m excited for the wedding too!” he says hastily.

Gemma looks at him flatly.

“I am!” Niall says. “I get to wear a wicked suit, I get to promise to love you for my whole life in front of everyone I care about, and then once that’s done you and I get to fly off to Fiji and — ”

“That’s enough of that,” Harry interrupts with a stern look.

Gemma looks charmed though.

Louis’s actually looking forward to the bachelor party as well. Liam hasn’t planned anything too extravagant, nothing with strippers or boob paraphernalia, but he has organised a small pub crawl. Well, that is if you can call walking between the three pubs that the small Wolverhampton clubbing scene has to offer, a ‘pub crawl’. It’s not going to be a huge crowd — just Niall, Liam, Louis, Harry, Geoff, Bobby and a few others. Niall’s brother is apparently planning on arriving in time to be there but could get held up, Liam had told Louis earlier.

“Speaking of your wicked suit,” Gemma says, interrupting Louis’ train of thought. “It might not be as wicked as you thought.”

Niall looks incredibly dismayed. “What? Why?”

Gemma sighs. “Got a call from the tailor again today. Says he’s had some issues with the measurements and it might take longer than he planned.”

Niall’s face shifts from confused to angry very, very quickly. “What?” he says again. “He’s already pushed it back; he was supposed to be done weeks ago.”

“I know,” Gemma says. Louis notices now that she looks a little more stressed than she had the day before, little lines that crease at the corner of her eyes and a darkness underneath. “I tried to say so, but I was dealing with the flowers at the same time and even I can’t yell at two people at once — ”

“What’s happened with the flowers?” Karen asks.

This, at least, Niall seems informed about. He glowers darkly. “They rang us this morning,” he says. “Say they’ve accidentally double booked so they won’t be able to get the flowers ready in time.”

He squeezes Gemma’s hand.

“It’s just so infuriating,” she says, “because we called them last week to make sure that everything was on track and they said it was. And we’ve been dealing with the _stupid_ tailor for weeks now and he keeps pushing things back and that’s enough of a hassle as it is.”

“I’ll go down tomorrow,” Niall says. “Straighten him out in person.”

“I’ll come with you, if you like,” Liam says. His suit is one of the three in question, Louis knows. Gemma had asked for his measurements months ago. He glances at Louis. “We don’t have anything planned, do we?”

Louis shakes his head. “No,” he says. They’ve only got the bachelor party and that doesn’t start til eight, which should give them heaps of time to sort out all these problems. He turns to face Gemma. “Is there anything I can do to help?” His own suit is hanging on the back of the door in Liam’s room.

Surprisingly, though, it’s not Gemma who replies.

Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “Uhm,” he says, “I could — I could use a second pair of hands, if you’re offering?”

Louis blinks at him.

“Harry’s looking after the flowers,” Gemma says. Louis forces himself to turn his head and look at her, because to just stare down at the table at Harry would certainly give something away. There’s something wary lingering behind her eyes. “He’s going to go to the shop tomorrow and see what’s going on.”

Louis blinks at her as well.

“I’m not sure what we’ll have to do yet,” Harry says. “But two people is always better than one, isn’t it?”

Louis swallows the lump in his throat and fights not to look as obvious as he feels.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. He can’t say no, not really, not after he’s just offered to help and told the whole table that tomorrow he’ll be nothing but free time. Whether or not he can handle an entire day alone with Harry is completely irrelevant. “Sure, sounds good.”

Harry’s still watching him. So is Gemma. Louis doesn’t have the capacity to even think about what the rest of the table is doing, how they might be reacting to this little exchange, let alone to check and see.

But Liam settles a hand on Louis’ shoulder, breaking the moment, looking proud. “Alright then!” he says. “Looks like everyone’s got a job tomorrow. I thought I’d have to do another day of you hounding my mum for the baby photos,” he jokes.

The table has a good little laugh at that, and Louis does his best to join in. It’s a half hearted attempt at best, but no one seems to notice and the conversation moves on.

Okay. This is fine, because this is what friends do for their friends. They help out and they solve problems and they work together without causing drama. And that’s what Harry is now, that’s all Harry can be.

He’s a friend, Louis thinks. They’re friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the terrific feedback so far! I live for your kudos, comments and messages - they're so lovely and amazing and they really, really, really make my day and motivate me to write! See you this time next week!! xx


	5. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're going to love me for this chapter, but then I think you're going to hate me a little bit. Good luck!! xx

The flower shop is further in town than Louis’ been before, and apparently far enough that Harry and Louis will have to take the car.

Louis considers this in the shower as he watches the water wash over his toes and down the small silver drain. If he plugged it he could probably get enough water build up to drown himself, he muses. Maybe. He’d probably have to put some effort into it.

“Louis!” Liam taps on the bathroom door, dragging Louis away from his thoughts. “Harry just called — he’s going to be here in five minutes to pick you up.”

There’s a shampoo bottle in the corner that’s roughly the right size. All Louis would have to do is slide it over the drain, lie down and accept his fate. Granted it’d be a bit of a squish, but he could definitely manage it with the right motivation.

“Louis?” Liam calls again. “Did you hear me? Harry’s going to be here in a few minutes.” 

Louis definitely has the right motivation.

Reluctantly, he shuts off the taps. The sickly feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach during dinner the night before is now so heavy it feels like a physical weight. It’s almost as though someone’s reached into Louis’ chest just to get a good grip on his lungs and squeeze. Everything feels tight, his skin stretched papery thin over muscles that don’t want to behave.   

And it’s all so stupid, is the thing. And that makes it worse, actually, because he knows that he’s being stupid but he can’t do a damn thing about it.

He scrapes the towel across his face, breathes in the damp fabric and forces himself to relax.

It’s Harry, he reminds himself. Just Harry. The same goofball who’d once made himself sick from eating too many marshmallows and spent a day curled up in the foetal position whining about it. Louis has a thousand other stories like that saved up in the back of his head because, above all else, he _knows_ Harry. He knows what his voice sounds like in the morning and how he sniffles in his sleep and how smelly his pits get after too much exercise. And no amount of awkward history can erase that — right? No matter what’s passed between them, he can’t have changed that much. After all, Louis hasn’t. Not in all the ways that matter.

He stares himself down in the mirror, focusing so hard on that thought that it might as be a prayer, before wrapping his towel around his waist.

“Louis!” Liam calls _again_. “Would you hurry up, Harry’s—”

Louis swings the door open with a bang and stomps into the bedroom, drowning out Liam’s words. “I’m fucking _coming,_ ” he says, a little more irately than Liam probably deserves. “Would you please quit nagging me, _god_.”

Then he looks up and stops dead.

That’s not Liam. That’s Harry.

Bizarrely, one thought jumps into Louis’ head before he can think of anything else. It’s an odd, obscure little thought, one he probably should have forgotten about years ago. There are three hundred and sixty five days in a year and he and Harry have been broken up for three. That’s just over one thousand days. Which means, Louis thinks numbly, that Harry hasn’t seen him naked in over one thousand days.

Louis’ nipples are hard, he notices next.

He’s naked, Harry’s three feet away from him and his nipples are hard. He can’t even blame it on a cool breeze, despite the fact that he’s completely exposed, because the bedroom window is closed and it’s actually remarkably toasty in the small room.

Louis fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest, if only because it would mean letting the towel go and that would probably only escalate the situation.

Harry’s standing near the door frame, like he’d been leaning on it until he suddenly wasn’t anymore. He’s got on those damned jeans again, and a relaxed round neck t-shirt that makes Louis want to cry. But he can’t think about that, not when Harry’s got eyes as wide as saucers, and his mouth shut in a thin line. 

Over Harry’s shoulder, Liam’s gone a little pink. There’s a sheepish smile on his face, nervous and guilty and apologetic. “Sorry,” he says. “I told Harry he could wait up here while you — I thought you’d have...” He trails off, his cheeks reddening further.

Harry clears his throat, the harsh sound of it interrupting Liam’s awkward babbling. “I’ll just wait outside then, shall I?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns and vanishes out the door.

He leaves behind him an awful, stifling silence.

Louis rounds on Liam.

“I’m sorry!” Liam says hastily, before Louis can get to beating the shit out of him. “My mum was badgering him and I thought I could get to know him while he waited, I didn’t think—”

Louis smacks him across the head.

“You didn’t think I’d come out in a towel?” he hisses. He keeps his voice quiet, remembering that Harry’s only on the other side of the door. “I was in the fucking shower, Liam!”

“I know!” Liam says. “I’m sorry.”

In the end, Louis is the bigger person. He ceases his attack on Liam and stalks imperiously over to his suitcase, grabbing the first shirt and jeans that he can see. He drops the towel, ignoring the sound of Liam slapping his hand across his eyes, and tugs the clothes on.

“You’re lucky I’m such a good friend,” he says darkly as he stalks for the door. He throws the wet towel at Liam’s head as he pulls the door open and revels in Liam’s scandalised shriek as the door closes behind him.

Harry’s standing in the corridor. He looks as normal as ever, even a little impatient, leaning against the corridor wall. The tips of his ears are a bit pink, Louis notices, but that’s probably just sunburn from the day before. It had been pretty hot, sitting in sun at the park.

He claps his hands together enthusiastically, doing his very best to erase the last five minutes from his head. “Sorry about that,” he says, fighting to look as unaffected as Harry does. “Shall we go?”

.

Louis resolutely does not think about the nipple thing as he gets into the car. Harry’s driving, swinging the keys on his thumb. Louis initially thinks the car must belong to Maura or Bobby, but as soon as he slides into the passenger seat he corrects himself. There’s a little fluffy banana key chain hanging from the rear view mirror, Alanis Morrissette CD’s litter the floor and there’s a subtle scent in the air of Marc Jacobs cologne. The smell is more than enough to rocket Louis into a whirlwind of memories, but he firmly sets them aside. Focus, he tells himself.

But he doesn’t need to stress too much. Whether it’s intentional or not, Louis doesn’t know, but Harry keeps the conversation from turning awkward by explaining the flowers situation to Louis in a little more detail.

“So they’ve got the flowers in for us,” Harry says, “but they accidentally double booked so the man who does the arrangements is already working on another wedding.”

Louis scrunches his nose up. He doesn’t know much about weddings but he can remember how frantic his mum had gotten in the lead up with absolute clarity. All things considered, it’s incredibly impressive that Gemma hadn’t screamed the house down when she’d heard.

“We might be able to find someone else to do the arrangements,” Harry says, “but we’ve got to pick up the flowers anyway.” He’s wearing his hair loose again today, and a couple of strands fall into his face as they round the corner onto the main street. He lifts his hand from the steering wheel and threads his fingers through his hair, shaking it a little to keep it away from his eyes.

Louis clears his throat a little awkwardly.

“What’s the plan if we can’t find someone else?” he asks. The wedding is on Saturday, after all, and its Thursday. That doesn’t leave much room for error.

Harry shrugs. “It can’t be that hard to make a couple of wreaths, can it?”

Louis’ pretty sure that it absolutely can, _and probably will,_ be that hard. He’s also sure that Harry remembers that. Once upon a time, a much younger Harry had taken a much younger Louis to the park on one of their shared days off and attempted to get him to make flower crowns, and it had _not_ ended well.

He’s mulling over pointing this out — weighing the pros and cons of reminding Harry of the relationship he clearly doesn’t want to talk about — when Harry hits the breaks. He slips the large car into a tiny park space with well practiced ease, right out the front of what looks like a quaint little flower shop.

It’s called _Rose’s Roses._ The shop front is a sweet mix of glass and exposed wood design, with two tables near the entrance blanketed in different kinds of flower pots. There’s an entire display devoted to some pansies, and some huge flowers in the corner that look like they’re from the Amazon. The whole place smells absolutely fantastic.

“Good morning!” a young woman behind the desk calls when Harry and Louis walk inside. “How are you guys, today?”

Louis smiles. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t mind having a bit of a chat with her. She doesn’t look old enough to be the Rose of _Rose’s Roses_ and he’d worked in the service industry long enough to know what it sounds like when someone’s giving him the company greeting. She seems to be handling it with surprising sincerity.

“We’re good,” Harry replies. He’s worked a few service jobs as well, before he and Louis finished things and after, going by their conversation yesterday. “How are you?”

She looks pleasantly surprised that he’s asked and smiles a little bit brighter. “I’m great!” she says, “thank you for asking!”

Poor little thing has got absolutely no defence for Harry’s calibre of charm, Louis thinks. Not that he’s doing much better.

“What can I help you with?” the girl asks.

A slight strain pulls at the corner of Harry’s smile, threatening to scare away the dimples and Louis steps in immediately. He’s always been better at being the bad cop. He shoots her a smile, albeit one a little less bright than Harry’s. “We’re actually here to follow up on an order with you guys?” he says. “The Horan-Styles Wedding?”

Now her smile is the one to fall, her eyes widening just a little at the edges. She’s been told to expect them, Louis surmises.

“Right!” she says. “Right, yeah, they told me you’d be coming in.” She wipes her palms across the front of her apron, looking far less jovial than she had when they’d walked in. Her eyes dart nervously from Louis to Harry, and then back again. “I’ve got your order over here.”

She leads them over to three wooden crates that have been stacked in the corner. They’re not too big, and if they’re only full of flowers then they shouldn’t be too difficult to lift, but Louis still eyes them a bit warily.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” the girl says. Louis peeks at her nametag, if only so that he can stop calling her ‘the girl’ in his head. _Katie,_ it reads. “We didn’t even realise that there’d been a mix up until last week when you called,” she says.

Her eyes go even wider after that, her cheeks tinging pink. Her boss probably hasn’t given her leave to tell them that, Louis thinks.

She reaches up and lifts the top crate off the pile. Harry and Louis both make a hasty effort to help, but she’s got it on the floor before either of them can try and stop her. She uses a small metal bar to wedge the lid off and pulls it back to show them the flowers.

They certainly look pretty, Louis thinks.

“So there are the _pink lisianthus_ and the _white spray roses_ ,” Katie explains. “The crate below is the _green pompon button mums_ and the _painted lady wax flowers_ , and then the bottom one has the _purple statice_ and the _green hypericum_.”

That doesn’t even sound like _English_ to Louis, but Harry just nods his head sagely. He reaches into the crate and lets his index finger drag down the stem of one of the white roses.

“They look great,” Harry says.

Katie relaxes slightly at that. “Uhm,” she continues, only slightly awkwardly. “Obviously you’re entitled to a full refund if you’ve chosen to go with another florist. But if you’d like to take the flowers, we’ll accept your deposit as the full payment.”

There is definitely no time to go with another florist, Louis thinks. Not with a day and a half to prepare. But she can’t be blamed for that.

“We’ll take these ones, if you don’t mind,” Harry says.

 _If you don’t mind_ , Louis thinks. Jesus Christ.

Katie hurriedly nods her head. “Of course,” she says. “If you’ll just come over to the til, I can sort out all the admin stuff for you. Do you have the card that the payment was made on?”

Harry follows her to the til while Louis lingers to inspect the flower crates. It shouldn’t be too hard to get them into the car. His biggest concern is the wood itself, and the way it’s splintering slightly. Louis certainly doesn’t want to spend the afternoon with the tweezers, pulling little pieces of wood from his fingertips. But there’s a little red trolley in the opposite shop corner that Louis thinks they might be able to borrow — at least to get them out to the car. And the wood can’t be that bad, he reasons. After all, he had just seen Katie lift it with without a worry in the world.

“Do you know of anyone who might be able to do a last minute arrangement?” Harry asks at the counter.

Katie looks incredibly sorry when she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry,” she says again. “I’ve actually been ringing around this morning to try and find someone, but all the people I’ve called are already booked.”

Harry sighs, but smiles nonetheless. The machine between them beeps as the transaction apparently goes through and she hands Harry back Gemma’s card.  

“We do have a magazine that might help, though,” she says. She digs through the cupboards behind the counter for a second before reappearing, clutching what looks like a glossy home improvement magazine in her hands. “This has instructions for DIY wreaths,” she says as she flips it open to the page in question. “And bouquets aren’t too hard to get the knack of.”

Louis, who’d walked over to Harry’s side to get a better look at the magazine, shoots her a cheeky grin. “Maybe you could do it for us, then,” he says.

Katie’s eyes go round as glasses. Harry elbows him in the side. “Lou,” he admonishes with a well-intentioned sigh. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

Louis doesn’t hear much after that. Lou. _Lou._

“Come on,” Harry says a second later. “We’ve got to get the crates in the car.”

Louis blinks a couple of times, swallows, clears his throat, and then nods. “Right,” he says, his voice only _slightly_ hoarse. “Right, yes.”

By the time he’s turned around, Harry’s got his back to him, already reaching for the first crate. Louis shoves away any and all thoughts of nicknames (which are nicknames _everyone_ calls him, for fucks sake, and therefore certainly shouldn’t have him this flustered), and bats Harry’s hand away.

“Stop,” he orders. “You’ll get splinters.”

Harry’s got soft hands, skin like a fucking baby’s bottom. It’d be a fucking travesty for him to hurt them on the coarse wood. Louis’ really only doing the nation a service by making sure that he doesn’t injure himself.

That doesn’t stop Harry from shooting Louis a peculiar look. Louis doesn’t read into it.

“I’ve got some gloves you can use,” Katie says. She passes over two worn pairs of gardening gloves before slipping a third pair onto her own hands. She’s wheeled the trolley that Louis had spotted earlier over as well. “We’ll just load them up and you can take them to your car.”

With the gloves on, it’s a very smooth process. They stack the crates up in the huge boot of Harry’s car, hand the gloves and trolley back to Katie and get on their way.

“What are we doing now?” Louis asks. He’s got the magazine sat safely on his lap. Katie had given it to them for free with all her well wishes. 

“Well,” Harry says. “I don’t want to waste the day looking for someone to do the arrangements if they’re all already booked. And we’re probably going to need all the time we can get if we’re going to be doing them ourselves.”

Louis nods. “Right,” he says. “So you want to get a bit of a head start?” 

“I was thinking we’d drop by the hardware store and get everything we need,” Harry says, nodding at the magazine, “then we can probably just set up in Niall’s yard and get as much done as we can this afternoon.”

The plan’s as good as any, Louis thinks. “Sounds good, mate,” he says.

.

There are worse ways to spend the afternoon, Louis reasons as they drive back to Niall’s house, than sitting in a backyard making bouquets with Harry Styles.

And despite the remarkably rocky start to their day (and the _Lou,_ holy god), Louis isn’t that worried. It’s a sorry state of affairs to be completely terrified of a person around whom he’s always felt completely at ease — but Louis can feel it all balancing out with every minute they spend together. He and Harry have always been good at this, just this, just spending time together, and Louis’ not sure Harry could ever change so much that that would stop being the case.

Sure, it’s a little uncomfortable navigating around the shower encounter, or the fact that Harry refuses to acknowledge their relationship, but once they stumble past that and find their footing, talking gets much, much easier.

They even share a joke on the way home. Granted, it’s one of Harry’s, so it’s as absolutely awful as his jokes have always been, but Louis laughs as loud as he always has and it’s nice.

When they get back to Niall’s house, they’re confronted with having to get all their new flowers and supplies to the yard.

“Okay,” Louis says as he and Harry survey their haul. On top of the three crates of flowers, they’ve stacked two coils of copper wire, some scissors, a shit load of colourful ribbon and something the man at the hardware store had called ‘floral tape.’ Which, incidentally, Louis still thinks is something he made up on the spot. But whatever. They’ve had that discussion already. He turns to Harry. “Why don’t I move all this to the yard while you call and see if anyone’s free to help out?”

Harry shoots him a strange little smile. “You that worried about me getting splinters?” he asks.

Louis’ fairly certain that his face flushes the brightest pink it’s ever been, but he keeps his head held high. “I’m that eager to have help,” he corrects Harry imperiously, with as much dignity as he can manage.

Harry’s smirking when he turns away, but he reaches for his phone and leaves Louis with the contents of the boot so Louis considers it a win.

The Horan’s have a gate at the side of their house that leads directly round to their backyard, which allows Louis to move the flowers and all their equipment with minimal fuss. It’s not a huge yard, just a fenced in patch of very green grass surrounded by colourful flower beds on every side. He sets up right in the middle, unstacking the crates and heaving the lids off. By the time Harry slips out the backdoor and into the yard, he’s got everything ready to go.

“Any luck?” he asks, as Harry approaches.

He can tell by the look on Harry’s face that the answer is no. Adorably, he scrunches up his nose when he shakes his head. “Maura and Bobby have gone out for lunch with Karen and Geoff, and the rest of them are still at the tailors.”

“Is everything sorted out?”

“Looks like they’re going to have to be there a while,” Harry says as he settles in the grass. Somehow he manages to cross his legs, which is an absolute feat of strength considering the jeans he’s got on. “Something’s gone wrong with all of Niall’s measurements. Gemma sounded like she was ready to kill someone on the phone.”

“I can imagine,” Louis says. Suddenly, he’s very, very glad that he’d decided to spend the day with Harry. Gemma was scary enough on the best of days and Louis wasn’t too keen to see her on her worst.

Conversation halts for a moment as Harry pauses to consider the set up. Louis’ put the three flower crates to his left and unwrapped all the wire and tape that they’ll need and set that to his right. The rest, he’s left for Harry to decide.

“How do you want to do this thing?” Louis asks.

Harry reaches into one of the boxes and pulls out a single purple flower. Louis can’t remember the names that Katie had given them. “If you want to do the bouquets, I can get a start on the wreaths?”

He sounds a little unsure, like he’s expecting Louis to shoot him down at any second. Louis doesn’t want that — he wants what they were getting tentatively close to in the car. Why deal with stilted conversation all day when they could plateau at an awkward middle ground?

Louis smirks, and does his valiant best to act the way he would if Harry were anyone fucking else. “Are you implying that wreaths are beyond my ability, then?” he asks.

Harry’s cheeks go a little red, but Louis’ too distracted by the reluctant, goofy smile to pay that any mind. “Well,” Harry says, “if the last time we tried to do flower art is anything to go by...?”

Ah, Louis thinks. So Harry _does_ remember.

He huffs. “That was years ago, Styles,” he says — and wow, that might have been a little too familiar. Slipping back into his comfort zone with Harry is remarkably quick and easy, like falling asleep or like putting on his moose slippers in the middle of winter. “Maybe I’m great at flowers now. Maybe I’m a flower _connoisseur_.”

Harry laughs a goofy little chortle. There’s a flash of something playful in his eyes, the same silly quirkiness that Louis had lived and died for way back when, like he knows he’s going to get in trouble but he’s going to say it anyway. “I doubt it,” he says.

Game, set and match, Styles, Louis thinks.

“Oh, I see,” he says out loud. “Challenge accepted. Just you wait; this bouquet’s going to blow your fucking socks off.” 

Harry has a giggle, his eyes lit up, and Louis feels like he’s a thousand miles high. He knows that they’re flirting, and he knows they certainly shouldn’t be, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop. Its entry level stuff, barely anything and definitely not something they should be worried about. That’s what Louis tells himself, anyway.

He’s got four bouquets to make: three for the bridesmaids — three of Gemma’s oldest and closest friends who were flying in the following night for the rehearsal dinner — and one for Gemma herself. He’ll save that one for last.

Still, he gets started with a little more pizzazz than is probably necessary. As he begins to negotiate the stems of the flowers, clipping them to a uniform length and making sure all the flowers fit together up the top, he shoots Harry a series of smug and triumphant looks. Every single one gets a laugh.

“See?” Louis says when he has a fairly impressive bundle. “I’m practically the flower _whisperer_.”

One of Harry’s glorious dimple-y smiles takes over his face and Louis feels his heart sing. It’s very clear that of the two of them Louis is not the one with the talent for flowers. In the short amount of time it’s taken Louis to make half a bunch of decent looking flowers, Harry’s finished the wire support for the first of his wreaths and has started to delicately thread his flowers through.

“Stop laughing at me,” Louis says, if only to make sure that Harry _keeps_ laughing. “I won’t have you mocking me. This bouquet is fantastic.” 

Fate or God or Destiny decides to work with him then, clearly just as interested in keeping Harry’s dimples showing, because one of the flowers tumbles out of the middle of Louis’ bunch and drops flower first into the grass.

Harry’s lets out a god awful cackle that’s every bit as joyful and wonderful as it was years ago when Louis heard it for the first time. He leans forward and clutches at his stomach a little, and it’s so lovely to see that Louis doesn’t even care that Harry’s laughing at his expense.

“Ugh,” he says, even though he’s kind of laughing as well. “Shut up.”

He really, really doesn’t want Harry to shut up. But Harry does, after a few seconds, unfurling himself as his laughter settles into a low, rumbling chuckle. “That,” he says after taking a few moments to recover, “was absolutely perfect.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You and Jesus are clearly in cahoots,” he says, and god, this is sillier than he’s acted in a long, long time. “Only you can’t get to me, so you’re taking it out on my flowers instead.”

Harry grins playfully, shaking his head. “I would never,” he says.

Louis looks pointedly at the _green pompon button mum_ lying dejectedly on the ground between them. “Tell that to the flower, mate.”

Surprisingly, Harry actually does reach out and pick up the flower. He lifts it to his nose, closing his eyes while he takes a deep breath and inhales the flower’s scent. It probably doesn’t even smell of anything — the flower itself is a rather ugly, prickly looking thing — but that doesn’t seem to matter in the slightest.

And then, after a moment, Harry — ridiculous, perfect, _wonderful_ Harry — presses a pink lipped kiss to the prickly green flower and whispers, “ _I’m very, very sorry._ ”

Louis is so absolutely fucked.

Without a doubt, one hundred percent, well and truly fucked.

When Harry opens his eyes again, he must notice the way that Louis is staring at him. It’s not even subtle. Louis can feel his jaw where it’s hanging open, can feel the heat to his cheeks and the wide set of his eyes. But remarkably, instead of looking annoyed or uncomfortable at having caught Louis staring, Harry’s cheeks turn a pretty pink and the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“There,” he says, and he actually sounds like he’s embarrassed for god’s sake. He lifts his hand and holds the flower out for Louis to touch. “I shouldn’t have let the flower get caught in the line of fire.”

He is so, so ridiculous, Louis thinks.

Louis reaches his hand out, and stupidly, foolishly, lets his finger’s brush across the back of Harry’s as he takes the flower. He lets his fingertips drag across Harry’s knuckles and memorises the soft, gentle heat of them. Those fingers knew every inch of him, had once peppered Louis’ skin in sweet and careful bruises, and Louis would be damned if he forgets a single thing about them.

He draws the flower back to his chest, refusing to let himself linger. He still hasn’t broken the stare, is still gazing into Harry’s green eyes, searching desperately for some kind of answer to all the frantic thoughts that are suddenly spinning around inside his head.

“You’re something else, you know,” he says out loud.

Harry doesn’t reply. The words, gravelly and low, linger in the space between them. It’s a beautiful day, the warm sun that’s beating down on them balanced by a cool and gentle breeze, but the air couldn’t feel more charged.

Louis wants to kiss him more than anything.

That thought, flying through Louis’ head and consuming him in its purest form, is enough to snap him out of it. He looks away abruptly, tearing his gaze away from Harry and staring in a panic at his own palms. Holy shit, he thinks. Holy shit, what the fuck is he doing? He can’t be doing what he’s doing, can’t even be thinking what he’s thinking.

He can’t force his hands to behave, can’t keep them still on even a singular flower. The silence between them now is a far sight from what it had been. Gone is the gentle soft quiet, and left in its place is an awkward, heavy thing. Louis searches desperately for something to break it.

“What — what are the wreaths actually for?” He finally stammers out.

There’s another moment then. Harry watches him warily for a moment, then a moment longer, and Louis thinks that this is it. This time, Harry isn’t going to let him just change the subject and get away with it. But Harry is Harry, and Harry’s always been kind.

“They’re going on the wedding party table,” Harry says, glancing down at his own hands. “They’re going to sit around the wine coolers.”

And actually, that reminds Louis of a fairly important question he keeps forgetting to ask. It’s blessed relief, to have something else to talk about, to think about that instead of the thousand other things thoughts that are screaming for his attention.

“What’s, uhm. What’s actually happening with the wedding table?” Louis asks. “I mean, I know you’ll all be sitting there but what do your dates do?”

He realises, somewhat belatedly, that it sounds almost as though he’s trying to figure out if Harry’s got a date for the wedding. In the exact same second he _also_ realises that he doesn’t actually know if Harry _has_ got a date to the wedding and, holy shit, what if Harry has a _date to the wedding?_

Harry’s always had a slow drawl, a long, drawn out syrupy voice that makes Louis tingle in all the best places, but in the second it takes him to answer, Louis thinks he might scream. (It’s barely a second, barely even a fraction of a second, but Louis’ heart is suddenly beating at triple speed so he can’t be blamed if he wants Harry to hurry the fuck up).

“You’ll be sitting up with us, actually,” Harry replies evenly.

And, like, that’s all well and good and definitely the answer to the question Louis had asked but it’s totally not the answer Louis needs right now. Instead, his mind zeroes in on Harry’s use of you. Does he mean just Louis? Or does he mean like the royal ‘you’ — like ‘you and my date and all the other dates will be sitting with us’?

Louis shouldn’t ask. That would be weird and intrusive and probably even a little bit creepy and Harry doesn’t need to be putting up with a weird, intrusive, creepy ex right now. Harry deserves better, like an ex who will respect his space and his boundaries and not ask questions that will shatter the fragile peace they’ve managed to pave.

But, like?

Louis will probably — absolutely, certainly, definitely — go a little mental if he doesn’t?

Besides, he can be totally subtle. He stares at his fingers, at the green tape that he’s carefully wrapping around the flower stems, and keeps his voice pointedly clear. “So, uhm,” he begins, not very strongly at all. “Do you — uh, are you going to be with, uhm. Sitting with someone?”

Poor form, a little voice in Louis’ head sings. Very poor form indeed.

Harry is silent for long enough that Louis can’t help but look up, his gaze leaping from the flower stems to land on Harry’s face.

It’s not good. Louis _really_ shouldn’t have asked. The corners of Harry’s lips are set at an unhappy downward tilt, an absolutely awful combination of what Louis thinks is sadness and probably anger. Harry’s not looking back at him, is focusing on the flowers in his own hands. The crease between his eyes is absolutely fucking heartbreaking.

God, Louis thinks. Fuck, shit, fuck.

“I’m sorry,” he backtracks immediately, only making things worse. Harry’s frown deepens and Louis’ heart drops into the seat of his pants. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, it’s none of my business.”

Harry lifts his hand from the flowers, scratches at the back of his neck and still doesn’t lift his head. He clears his throat though, effectively cutting Louis’ haphazard rambling off at the knees.

“No,” he says. His voice is light and airy and a little bit sad. “No date for me.”

It’s only then that he looks up. The only thing worse than the flat, sardonic, ‘why don’t you mind your own fucking business’ look Louis had been expecting is the bright, tight smile that Harry plasters on. Like he’s trying to protect _Louis’_ feelings.

God, Louis must be so fucking obvious. Harry knows, he obviously knows, that Louis’ hasn’t recovered from their relationship the same way Harry has. After all, how could he miss it? When Louis stumbles over every second word and avoids eye contact and badgers him about his personal life. 

Anger would be better than this, Louis thinks. He’d take anger any day, when the only other option is _pity._

The back door slides open, Niall and Liam spilling through the doors looking much smarter than Harry and Louis probably do. Liam’s wearing his olive sportcoat and a gleeful smile.

“Lou!” he shouts. He and Niall have clearly begun the pre-drinks portion of their bachelor party celebrations. “Harry! Come have a drink?”

Niall waves his hands around, gesticulating wildly at the flowers. “Don’t worry about that anymore, lads,” he says. “We’ll finish it up tomorrow. We’re getting our drink on!”

It’s hard to pay attention to them. Louis’ blood is still searing through him, thumping around his body much faster than he can handle, and his heart is still thudding out a furious beat. All he can think about is what must be going through Harry’s head, how he must pity Louis _and_ Liam now. Poor, sweet Liam, he must be thinking. Poor gullible Liam who’s boyfriend won’t even look his way.

—but no.

_No._

Louis’ a better friend than that.

Liam swoops over to them and holds out a meaty arm, hauling Louis to his feet. Louis steadies himself, holding onto Liam’s arms for support, and reminds himself that this week Liam _has_ to come first. 

“Do I look alright?” Liam asks.

He’s asked Louis that a thousand times. Louis’ always been a little bit better with fashion than Liam has — before Louis, Liam had once tried to wear a belt _over the top_ of his coat, for fuck’s sake — so asking for Louis’ opinion before they go out has become their default. Louis is Liam’s fashion friend.

But, here and now, he’s a little more than that. He’s Liam’s fashion _boy_ friend. And this time, Louis is making a fucking effort.

He leans a little into Liam, much closer than he ever would normally, and smooths his hand down the crease of Liam’s lapel. Then he reaches up and tugs at the point of Liam’s collar, pulling it free from where it’s been caught by Liam’s jacket.

“You look great, babe,” he says.

He knows he shouldn’t look at Harry, no matter how desperate he is to see how Harry reacts. That’s not what he would do if he really _were_ in love with Liam, after all. So he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes caught firmly on the curve of Liam’s jaw and ignores the way his hands are shaking slightly.

Harry vanishes inside a few seconds later, anyway, rendering the entire act pointless.

“Aw,” Liam says, wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulders and yanking him in for a very uncomfortable, drunk hug. “Thanks _babe._ ”

Louis grimaces, his face pressed right up against where Liam’s dabbed his almost-to-strong cologne, and thinks that tonight is going to be a very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I've said before, your response to this fic has been absolutely fantastic. Honestly, I'm having a strange time at work/irl at the moment and all your comments and messages have truly been getting me through, so I'd love it if you kept it up. Comment just to tell me your favourite bit, or even just to yell at me for being so cruel to our boys. I promise things will get better for Harry and Louis - even if it gets a little bit worse before that happens :P x


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter a little early for all some wonderful anons and tumblr users who replied to my last tumblr post. I hope you love it!

The first bar of the evening is the same small establishment that they’d spent the night in on Tuesday. The bartender, who clearly remembers Liam and Niall from back when they were wee, gives them all free drinks and lets them take control of the music while they wait for the rest of Niall’s friends to arrive. In addition to the more important men in Niall’s life — his dad, his brother, Geoff, Harry and Liam — Liam’s invited a few of their old school friends and some of Niall’s closer friends from work. They all arrive roughly on time in jovial spirits. Even Greg makes it on time, despite a couple of delayed flights that keep him a few extra hours than he’d planned.

“Sorry if I bug out a bit early, boys,” he says, sounding exhausted as he shakes Liam’s hand. “Had to sit in the damn airport for almost five hours.”

Naturally, Liam promises him that won’t be a problem. Greg moves on to shake Louis’ hand while Liam asks, “How’d Theo manage the wait?”

Greg smiles a bit grimly. “The way every three year old does, I suppose. Screamed his head off the whole way here. Made damn sure the entire plane hated us.”

Louis has heard about Theo. Theo is Greg’s son, three years old and hopefully Louis’ saving grace during the wedding. He’s always loved spending time with kids, of course, but he does have another, slightly more devious motive. If Louis can talk his way into taking care of the boisterous toddler the entire day then he’ll hopefully be too distracted to say the wrong thing or stare at the wrong person a little too long. 

Speaking of the wrong person, Harry has made quite the effort for Niall’s pre-nuptials celebration. And, of course, it’s making Louis want to claw his own eyes out. He’s traded what Louis’ come to know as his trademark black skinny jeans for a far tighter, waxier pair that cling to his legs like a second skin. He’s paired them with a slightly opaque black button down cut in a decadent velvet floral print.

Louis has been digging his fingernails into his palms since he first saw Harry, walking down the stairs in Niall’s house. It’s a surprise he hasn’t drawn blood yet, to be honest.

They don’t spend too long at the first pub — the bartender is nice, but not nice enough to give a group as large as theirs free drinks for the entire night. After about an hour and a half of drinking and catching up, Liam rounds them all up and hurries them onwards.

They don’t have to walk far to get to the next bar. This one is far more modern than the last, lots of clean metal surfaces and tall, silver stools to sit on. A cool blue light bathes most of the bar. Louis thinks they’re probably going for a New York kind of vibe, but the reality is closer to something from Blackpool. It’s probably more impressive when it’s busy — and it certainly will be a little bit later. Thursdays in Wolverhampton means cheaper drinks, Louis has learnt. But it’s not quite late enough for the younger kids to be out, so the bar and its dance floor look thoroughly bereft.

The drinks are spectacular though, Louis has to give them that.

The first one that Niall is given is a tall, almost glowing tube of blue liquid called a _‘Space Walk’_. Louis doesn’t know what’s in it, doesn’t know how they made it. In fact, all he knows is that that it smells like bubblegum and stains Niall’s teeth like an ice lolly.

They all try at least one stupid drink. Louis’ orders a bright orange monstrosity called a ‘ _Carrot Top’_ while Liam enjoys a particularly potent looking green cocktail called a ‘ _Slytherin’_. They manage to snag a few of the stools for themselves, and Louis seats himself just in time to see Niall dribble a bit of his blue drink down his front. They stay there for a couple of hours, watching as the club fills up. When it gets a little too crowded — Louis likes rubbing up against sweaty strangers only under a very specific set of circumstances — they head out once again.

It’s at the third pub of the night that they truly settle. Liam had planned it that way, of course, made sure that they’d have enough space in advance and room for them all to sit down.

“Harry!” a voice interrupts them, as they’re all negotiating drink orders.

Harry turns, his nipples scraping obscenely at the sheer fabric of his shirt — not that Louis’ _looking_ — and a wide, bright grin breaks out on his face. The person who had called his name is tall, the kind of tall Louis once wished to be before he learnt that people that tall are usually assholes. He’s got a bit of a beard, and his sunglasses hooked over the collar of his shirt.

_Wanker_ , Louis thinks, before he can help himself.

No matter how rude or unreasonable Louis’ thoughts are, they do nothing to stop Harry as he stands up. He drops a hand to Niall’s shoulder and says, “I’ll be right back,” before he reaches out and pulls this new person into a firm embrace.

“It’s so good to see you!” The guy says exuberantly. Louis feels a little sick. “Come on, let me buy you a drink, how have you been?” is the last the last thing he hears before they’ve vanished in the direction of the bar.

Louis is not bitter. Because Harry is none of his concern, he reminds himself. Let this be a lesson in self control.

_Hell no_ , a voice in his head protests. It’s the same voice that had always made a fuss whenever Harry had smiled like that at other boys, the same voice that had become Louis’ best friend in the middle of the Grimshaw debacle. Louis ignores it.

Instead, he keeps his back facing the direction that Harry’s just disappeared and takes a firm hold of Liam’s hand. It’s almost an anchor, a firm grip to remind him exactly what he’s doing there.

Liam does a magnificent job of distracting him, as always, by choosing that exact moment to give Niall his surprise. It’s about time — the giant bag Liam’s had swung casually over his shoulder since they’d left has fooled absolutely no one — but, to be honest, Louis impressed that Liam’s made it this far. He’d been expecting for Liam to give up before they’d even begun to drink, but he’s managed to hold out with remarkable control.

So when Niall sits down, fourth or fifth pint sat happily in front of him, Liam decides to do the honours. He sits his bag down on the table and pulls out the jersey he’d spent almost three months procuring.

Niall freezes mid-laugh.

The rest of the boys follow suit, mostly because Niall’s stopped laughing at their jokes. Behind Niall, Louis can see Greg’s eyes go wide. They’ve clearly recognised the jersey colours, but it’s the little black scribbles that have been scrawled all over it that seems to have their attention.

“Is that...?” Niall begins softly, tentatively. He’s breathing heavily, his gaze flicking to Liam for one nanosecond before they land back on the jersey. “Liam, is that—?”

Liam scratches the back of his neck and looks a little bashful. “It’s your old Derby jersey,” he says. “I had your Dad mail it to me a few months back, and then I—” He doesn’t have to explain anymore, because Niall leaps to his feet and snatches the jersey up in his hands. Frantically, he scans the signatures, running his fingers across the fabric with a devoted, delicate touch.

“Holy shit,” he says as he peers at the jersey. “Holy shit, Keogh’s signed this!” he flips the shirt over and blinks incredulously at what he sees. “And Forsyth! And Baird, how did you get _Baird_?”   

Liam still looks bashful, and even a little unsure, like he’s not quite convinced Niall’s happy with it. Which is _ridiculous_. Greg is making grabby hands over Niall’s shoulder, but Niall doesn’t relent for a second. He clutches the small weathered jersey to his chest with a look of such staunch and drunk defensiveness that Greg wisely thinks better of pursuing it.

“I just wrote them a couple of letters,” Liam said. “I took it with me when I was in Derby a few months ago and got most of them to sign it; then they told me when I should come back and meet the guys who weren’t there.”

Niall blinks at him a couple of times. Louis is very, very glad that Liam waited until Niall was a bit drunk to do this.

“Wait,” Niall says, once again sounding deathly serious. “Wait, you _met_ them?”

Liam shrugs. “Yeah.”

Niall looks like he’s just about ready to shit his pants. Greg’s not far behind.

“Which _ones?!”_ Niall shrieks. “Oh, my god, Liam — which ones were they? You have to tell me, holy shit.”

Liam’s beginning to smile, a tentative amused little quirk of the lips like he’s only just figured out how excited Niall is. Fuck ‘excited’, Louis thinks. Niall practically _euphoric._

“Uhm, I met a few of them, actually,” he says — and if he can tell that Niall’s about to start hyperventilating then he doesn’t let on, because he just keeps on talking. “I know that I met Dawkins and Hendrick, they were pretty cool. They’re the ones I ran into first that went and got the rest of them.”

Niall looks about as incredulous as Louis had felt when he’d heard this story for the first time. Only Liam Payne could go looking to buy a bit of merchandise and accidentally stumble on an entire football team.

“There were a couple of blonde blokes,” Liam continues. “They were kind of skinny. Couldn’t tell you who they were though. One of them was bald, but he had this wicked beard — he was really nice.” 

“Musta been Buxton,” Greg muses.

Niall shushes him with a ferocity Louis’ never seen before.

“Actually,” Liam says then. “He’s the one who gave me these — Buxton, was it?” When Greg nods, Liam reaches into his back pocket and pulls out two crinkled tickets. Louis knows, from the absurd amount of time Liam spent stressing about where to hide them in his suitcase, that they’re two season passes that also bare about a thousand loopy signatures. He presents them to Niall proudly. “He said congratulations as well, I really liked him. He was lovely.”

Niall looks caught between wanting to cry with happiness and maybe wanting to throttle Liam with his bare hands — but in the end, the former must win. He takes the tickets with shaky hands and lets out a loud, drunk sniffle.

His eyes are shining.

“Liam,” he says after a long, dramatic pause. “Liam Payne.”

“Yes?” Liam says.

“Liam. James. Payne.”

“Uh, _yes_?” Liam sounds bewildered, and a little cautious, which is spot on because Niall engulfs him in a bear hug so violent that Liam actually staggers back a couple of feet.

“You,” he announces grandly, if a little tearfully, “are the best human being in the whole entire world. I’m in love with you.”

A couple of the guys around them snicker, one of them even goes so far as to say, “Gemma better watch her back!” but Niall’s too busy wiping his snotty nose on Liam’s shoulder to pay them any mind.

When the embrace ends and Liam pulls back, Liam’s smiling so wide that he’s practically glowing. “There’s a signed football back at your place as well,” he says, almost like an afterthought.

Niall lets out a pitiful little whimper and pulls Liam back into the hug.

It is then that Harry makes an appearance, apparently finished catching up with his other friends. He’s got a tall pink drink in his hand, with a little umbrella and straw poking over the rim of the glass.

“What’ve I missed?” he asks. His voice sounds even slower than normal, enough to suggest that this pink drink is perhaps not the first.

Louis shoots him a dry smirk, all the while repeating a ‘ _friends, friends, friends’_ mantra in his head. “Niall’s in love with Liam,” he tell him.

Maybe it’s just all the alcohol he’s had so far, but for a second Louis could swear that Harry’s eyes sparkle. There’s something to the look he shoots Louis, the little smirk he’s got painted on his lips. “Him too?”

Louis flushes and feels it rush all the way down to his toes. There it is; the same look he’d seen in Harry’s eye that afternoon. Like the worst flavour of kind, crinkle-eyed pity. Louis looks away and then regrets it in the same second — if anything is going to prove Harry right, it’s acting like that. If he really were in love with Liam he wouldn’t shy away from it. He’s not that kind of person and Harry knows it. In fact, Harry can probably remember the thousands of times Louis had boasted about his relationship with Harry to his other exes. This, what he’s doing now, is a far cry from the way he’d stalked up to Robert (a grad student he’d spent far too much time and money on during his first year of Uni) and practically mounted Harry in front of him.

He pretends that he was taking a sip from his drink, steels himself, and then looks back at Harry. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

He’s never been very good at acting cold around Harry, and even under the circumstances his attempt falls flat. It sounds soft, a little unsure.

Harry’s smile slips a little.

By the time Louis turns his attention back to Liam and Niall the two of them have separated. Niall has pulled his jersey on over his head and has clearly messed up his hair in the process. It’s sticking out every which way, something which seems to be a source of endless amusement to the other lads, who are all practically howling with laughter. Liam’s chortling away like the best of them, but the red rise on his cheeks and years of friendship tell Louis that he might not be laughing for long.

He reaches out and tugs on Liam’s arm. He shoots him a significant look, one that says ‘ _we’ve been here before and last time it ended with your insides on my shoes’_ , before he turns to Harry. It’s out of necessity, he _swears._ “I’m going to get him some water,” he says. “Do you want anything?”

Harry shakes his head. “No thanks,” he says, motioning to the pink drink he’s still holding. “But if you could get one for Niall, that’d be swell.”

That’d be _swell_ , Louis thinks as he stomps to the counter. He didn’t even know people used the word swell outside of bad gangster films.

Still, he diligently fetches the water. By the time he’s returned, half of their group has migrated over to a now empty pool table. The rest — Liam, Niall, Harry, Greg, Bobby and Geoff — have secured themselves a little table.

Louis puts the three glasses down on the table and slips in beside Liam. He jabs Liam unapologetically in the side and looks pointedly to the glass of water, while he takes a cool sip from his own. Once he’s satisfied that Liam’s actually listening, he turns his attention to the rest of the table.

“What are we talking about?” he asks.

Niall, who’s been guzzling his own drink of water with surprising ferocity, makes a strange gesture in Harry’s direction. “We were just chatting about tomorrow morning,” he says, when he puts his drink down.

“What’s happening tomorrow morning?” he asks a little warily.

Harry meets Louis’ gaze with a cool determination that certainly doesn’t bode well. “Me and Gems are going to pick up our Mum up from the airport,” he smiles. If he’s noticed that Louis’ stopped breathing, he doesn’t let on. “Then we’re going to meet you lot in town and get some brunch.”

“We’re trying to figure out which cafe to go to,” Niall continues for him. “Whaddya reckon, Leemo? I thought maybe _The_ _Eatery_ , but Mum was saying that _Urban_ might be better...”

Louis stops listening. The blood is rushing too loud in his ears for him to be able to hear much anyway, his thoughts too preoccupied. He can actually feel as his fight or flight reflex kicks in, the adrenalin flooding his system while his brain flat lines. There’s a chance he considers the exits of the establishments, bizarrely planning for a quick getaway like Anne is just going to appear out of thin air.

Holy fuck, his brains screams at him on loop. She’s actually going to kill him.

Promising her that he’d take care of her son is a particularly vivid memory that Louis has always felt quite strongly about. He’d always been impressed by her, and he’d certainly always been intimidated. He can remember the way that she’d pulled him aside with startling precision. They’d spent a weekend at her house, the first time Louis had ever met her, and on the last day she’d taken a firm hold of his wrist. Harry had been packing the car so she wasn’t quiet or subtle when she settled her hand on his shoulder, squeezed reassuringly and said, “ _Now you take care of him, you understand_?”

At the time he’d more than understood. There’d been no doubt in his mind when he’d agreed — no, _promised_ that there was nothing to worry about it. But, as their current set of circumstances suggest with a horrifying clarity, things change. And now here Louis is. Dating — fuck, _living with_ — the best man at her daughter’s wedding.

At this point it’s a wonder if he even makes it to the fucking wedding, Louis thinks weakly.

Bravely, Louis looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. Harry must have some idea of the emotional turmoil that’s coming at Louis from every direction, which is what makes his amused little smirk _so_ much more annoying. Although, Louis thinks, after all the shit Louis’ forced Harry to put up with the last few days, it’s probably what he deserves. Besides, Harry had always found it funny, the way that Louis was perpetually terrified of this mother.

Louis narrows his eyes slightly but decides ultimately to let Harry have this one. He does his valiant best to calm his frantic heart and devote his attention to the conversation at hand.

“Ooh!” Liam is saying excitedly. “What about _Gus’_? I _love Gus’_!”

Niall’s brow creases. “Where’s that?”

And that’s as good a time as any for Louis to speak up. “Haven’t you lived here your whole life?” Louis interrupts, somewhat shakily. “Just take her to your favourite, she’s pretty relaxed, she’ll be happy with anything.” There’s a pause during which Louis realises that was perhaps too familiar a tone to take about a stranger’s mother. Louis coughs awkwardly. “I mean,” he hastily backtracks. “Probably. Like most mums. I would guess.”

Harry’s amused smile spreads a little wider, but thankfully Liam and Niall are drunk enough to let it go. Instead, Niall lets out a sad little whine.

“I would!” he says, “but they shut down my favourite place while I was away and no other place will ever live up. They’ve ruined me for all other cafes.”

Liam makes an understanding noise. “ _Cherry Leaf_?”

Niall makes another pitiful noise and nods, distraught.

“Wait, hang on,” Louis says, frowning. “I thought you lived here?”

Just like that, Niall recovers. He straightens back up in his seat and shoots Louis a cheery look, shaking his head. “No,” he says. “I moved up Cheshire way a couple of years ago. S’how I met Gems.”

He probably should have guessed that when Harry mentioned the golf club they’d both worked at, Louis thinks. Holmes Chapel is so small, it makes sense that Harry and Niall would grow to be the close friends they are now. 

“Right,” Louis says. “Sorry. I didn’t realise there was a whole lot of you up that way.”

Weirdly, Niall looks more bewildered at that. “No,” he says. “It’s just me and Gems. And Anne, I guess.”

Louis looks at Harry. He’s confused and he’s absolutely certain it shows on his face. “But I thought...” he says, trailing off awkwardly.

Harry doesn’t say anything. His relaxed little smirk has vanished. Now there’s a distinct ‘deer in the headlights’ look plastered across his face. Louis frowns some more.

“Oh!” Niall roars, when he apparently figures out what Louis’ trying to say. “You thought Harry was up our way as well! No, he’s been in Manchester for almost a year now — haven’t you, Harry?” He claps Harry heartily on the shoulder. “You two are practically neighbours!”

And that, Louis thinks, that he hadn’t been expecting at all.

.

_“Can’t you just imagine it?”_ Harry had asked Louis once, lounging around on Louis’ bed. He’d been completely starkers, his legs spread wide enough to show off the little bruises Louis’ teeth had left on the inside of his thighs. “ _It’s always so alive, I can’t wait to actually be there every day. Just think, Lou — we could get up any time and just go ride the Eye. We could go at midnight!”_

Louis remembers feeling quite sceptical. Not only did he have absolutely zero interest in paying through the teeth to sit on a stupid, slow ferris wheel, but he’d also been fairly certain that real Londoners didn’t waste their time on the kitschier tourist attractions. He hadn’t said that, though. Instead, he’d said, “ _and when would the poor ride operators get to sleep if we did that, love?”_

“ _Louuu,”_ Harry had whined. He’d pouted, his lower lip jutting out and just begging for Louis to sink his teeth in. The conversation had ended fairly quickly after that, and that’s where the memory gets a little hazier — the finer details lost in blurring thoughts of soft skin and searing lips.

But Louis remembers this much. They’d been talking about London. They’d always been talking about London when Harry had his way. He’d always loved big cities, always waxed poetic about the tall buildings and huge crowds. He wanted to live in a tiny flat at least ten floors up, with a flower pot on the balcony and a cat. Louis can remember, because it had been his dream for a long, long time — even before Louis had known him.

But apparently that too had changed in the time they’d been apart. Because now, at least according to Niall, Harry lived in a reasonable ground floor flat in Manchester. He didn’t have a cat, Niall had said, although he did have several flower pots. They didn’t live close to each other by any means — Harry’s flat was apparently to the north of the university, while Liam and Louis lived a bit further out west — but they’d still been sharing a city for the last year and a half.

It’s a lot to take in, Louis thinks as he orders an incredibly alcoholic drink at the bar. Far more than he’s equipped to deal with.

It hadn’t taken long for the rest of their group to join the others at the pool tables. Now that it was so late, the bar had emptied a little, allowing Niall and his guests to take up two of the large green tables. Liam and Niall were playing now, and making a raucous noise whenever Niall sunk one of the balls.

Louis had lingered by the bar. When the bartender hands over his drink, Louis doesn’t waste any time in downing half the thing. He closes his eyes, guzzles down the tangy liquid and pays absolutely no mind to the drops that slosh over his chin. He’s got much more important things to worry about then whether or not his tequila sunrise had stained his shirt.

Of course, _of course_ , when he puts the drink back on the bar, Harry is standing next to him.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” he asks.

Louis can’t be blamed for looking a little wary. It’s late and he’s had far too much to drink to be able to handle anything like this right now. But Harry’s eyes are wide, earnest, and absolutely irresistible.

He takes a halting step forward. “Lou?” he asks. “Just for a second?”

One fucking syllable and Louis’ fucking done for. He needs to start working on his Harry-tolerance levels, he thinks as he turns to follow Harry outside. Harry leads him to a small side exit — the same one that Louis had noticed when he’d been in the midst of struggling with the Anne revelation — which opens onto a small, dark alley. In Manchester Louis probably wouldn’t brave it, but Wolverhampton is pretty small and Louis really wants to hear what Harry has to say.

Just next to the door, there’s a small grey cinderblock that’s clearly used to wedge the door open. Harry does exactly that, edging the brick into place with his foot before he lets the door close on it. It leaves a sliver of yellow light on the alleyway, a stark contrast to the soft white blue that the moon offers.

For a moment, the alley is incredibly still.

“I’m not stalking you, or anything,” Harry says abruptly.

“What?” Louis says.

Harry lifts a hand to scratch absently at the back of his neck. It pushes all of his hair over one shoulder and pulls at the flimsy fabric of his shirt. The moonlight is doing fucking wonders, illuminating what seems like hundreds of tattoos on Harry’s skin that Louis’ never seen before. He wants to trace them with his tongue, to memorise the feel of them the way he had with the rest. But now’s probably not the time.

“Like, with me being in Manchester,” Harry explains awkwardly. “I didn’t — I mean, I don’t want you to be, like, weirded out.”

“I’m not,” Louis says — and he means it. He’s just confused.

“I mean,” Harry keeps talking anyway. “I didn’t know what to say, and I don’t want you to think that I like, _followed_ you or anything.”

It hurts, just a little, to hear Harry say it like that. Like it’s something incredulous, something stupid, the thought that Harry might have followed Louis anywhere. Although it kind of is, a bitter voice in Louis’ head pipes up. That much had been made abundantly clear three years ago. 

But now isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts. Louis stows them away fiercely and speaks a little louder this time.

“Harry,” he says, firm enough that Harry falls silent. “I’m really not. I’m not weirded out and I don’t think you’re stalking me. We’re fine.”

They’re not fine. They’re a very far way away from fine, as a matter of fact, but that’s not the point.

“I mean,” he continues tentatively. “I’m a little confused?” He’s not sure if he’s allowed to do this, to bring up their history like it’s something Harry wants to talk about, but he does it anyway. “What happened to London?”

Harry pauses for a second. “London,” he says. “Right.”

Louis’ not satisfied with that. He prods a little further. “I thought that was always the big dream?” he says. “It always used to be.”

They’re not standing very far apart. The alley’s not really big enough to allow them much room, only about two feet between them. Louis can see the way Harry’s throat moves as he swallows, the stark shape of Harry’s mouth as he wets his lips with his tongue.

“Things change,” Harry says.

Louis smiles. He doesn’t want to pry — actually, he really, really does, and knows he really _shouldn’t_ — but he does anyway. “Must have been a big thing,” he muses.

Harry hums and nods his head. “It was.”

Harry’s clearly being vague for a reason, a saner part of Louis insists. He tries another smile and forces a quiet laugh. “What was it?” he jokes. “You finally decided you like Man U after all?”

As far as Louis’ jokes go it’s rather weak. But ordinarily, even the worst of Louis’ jokes were enough to get Harry to crack a smile. No such thing happens now, with barely three feet of space between them and a world of memories.

“Something like that,” Harry murmurs.

He’s watching Louis’ face with a kind of intensity that Louis hadn’t known Harry was capable of. Sure, they’d each done their fair share of gazing at one another in the past, but this doesn’t feel like it had back then. This feels more intense, like something a little darker is going on behind Harry’s green eyes.

He blinks and the look vanishes.

“Don’t worry about my mum, either,” Harry says.

Louis has to realign his thoughts for a moment, just to keep up to speed. Right, he thinks. Harry’s mum. The woman who may well murder him in less than twelve hours time. It feels as though Harry’s changed the subject on purpose, but Louis thinks he can’t really begrudge him for that. And he’s not going to call him out, not when Harry’s let Louis get away with so much over the past few days.

So he shrugs. “I reckon I’ll always be a bit scared of your mum, Haz.”

It’s an accident. Or, maybe not. It’s certainly not intention — but it rolls off his tongue with an effortless ease that Louis had forgotten he was even capable of. It’s like a quiet joke, one that couldn’t work without that sweet, little nickname tacked on at the end.

It is a mistake, though. Louis shouldn’t have said it. All it does is blur the lines he’s been fighting so hard to maintain, breaking the rules he’d so carefully set.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind though. The set of his shoulders relax a little, his features softening on his face. He smiles.

“Do you remember that time she called on Christmas?” Harry asks.

He doesn’t need to clarify. Louis does remember that, as a matter of fact. He remembers the earnest look Harry had given him when he’d said he’d rather spend the holiday season together. He remembers the presents they’d swapped. They’d promised to avoid extravagance, so Harry had gotten Louis some personalised socks. Louis had bought Harry an apron, emblazoned with bright red letters that read: KISS THE COOK, and then proceeded to do so for the rest of the afternoon.

The phone call from Harry’s mum had been a terrifying interlude in the middle of what is probably one of Louis’ fondest memories.

“When she yelled at me for being a bad influence?” Louis says.

Harry grins, chuckles under his breath. “She was so mad at me for not coming home, she yelled at me for weeks.”

Louis laughs as well. Part of him can’t even believe that they’re here, talking about this. This Harry, the one who’s smiling down at him with shining eyes, is a far cry from the one who’d pretended not to know who Louis was.

“I was convinced she was going to kill me,” he says. “Honest to God, I thought she was going to drive down that night to steal you back.”

“Nah,” Harry says, casual as ever. “I wouldn’t have let her.”

Louis’ breath hitches. He catches Harry’s eye and suddenly knows that they’re both thinking about what they’d done after they’d finished with the silliness of the day. The heating had gone out in the late afternoon, so they’d moved the festivities to Louis’ bed and buried themselves beneath the covers. The fleece blankets were almost too hot, and had made Harry’s hair go static, but they’d been too preoccupied to pay that any mind. They’d spent hours under there, needing or wanting for nothing except each other and hot, bare skin.

Harry licks his lips again.

Louis clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is far huskier than he’d intended. “That was a — a good day,” he says.

There’s a heavy, tense pause. It lingers between them like something physical, like someone’s thrown a giant, thick blanket over them and sucked the hot oxygen from the air. Something wicked sparkles in Harry’s eye, the same look that’s always warned Louis when Harry’s about to throw caution to the wind. Louis almost knows what’s coming when Harry smiles his small, sly smile.

“It was a good night, too,” he drawls.

Louis shivers, his skin prickling as he leans subconsciously closer. Harry knows what he’s doing, he _must_ know what he’s doing, but Louis feels almost helpless against it. His thoughts are consumed with the memory of Harry’s searing touch, the rough scrape of his teeth and the wide grasp of his open palms.

Harry’s closer and Louis can’t remember when that happened. The familiar scent of Harry’s cologne is tantalisingly near, and another scent that’s all Harry’s own. Louis glances down, no idea where to look, and sees where Harry’s nipples have peaked through the fabric. He wants to touch them, them and everything else. He wants to feel the heat of Harry’s body through the barely-anything fabric of his shirt, wants to compare the cheap velvet with the exquisite softness of Harry’s bare skin.

He’s tall, Louis realises as they orbit ever closer. Louis has to lift his head, crane his neck back to keep his eyes on Harry’s. He’s grown into himself, into his hands and his shoulders and his jaw line. And Louis had certainly never thought that Harry had ever lacked anything, but now he can’t imagine Harry without this almost overwhelming physical presence.

He’s so close, so, so fucking close. He can see the light shade of stubble on Harry’s upper lip, feel the heat of his breath spill out. Harry’s lips are right there, Louis thinks errantly. Louis hasn’t tasted him in three years and, all of a sudden, three years feels like a fucking lifetime.

“Harry,” Louis breathes his name out like a prayer. He wants to, he wants — he just fucking _wants._

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry whispers back.

Louis feels the ghost of Harry’s lips brush his the second that a loud bang echoes through the alley. They leap away from each other, Louis jerking his head back so violently that it hits the brick wall behind him.

“You lads okay?” asks the source of the noise. It’s the bartender, opening the door they’d come through with a large metal trashcan in his hand. He’s got a smirk on his face, probably judging them something fierce, but Louis can’t think about that right now.

Holy fucking shit, Louis thinks. What the fuck was he _thinking_?

Harry is leaning against the opposite wall. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes wide and fucking horrified.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Louis stares at him for a few still seconds, feeling hot and terrified and overwhelmed. Fuck, there’s a very good chance he’s going to start crying. God, he’s such a fucking mess.

“Louis,” Harry says — and fuck, it’s so different from what he’d just, from the way he’d just — Louis feels like throwing up.

Instead, he pushes away from the wall. His head is throbbing but he pays it no mind, too busy reaching for the door back into the pub. “We should go,” he says.

“No — Louis, wait!” Harry says.

Louis shakes his head, even if he hesitates in the doorway. Harry looks wrecked, confused and god, Louis fucking did that to him. Louis’ fucking with his head, and fuck, that’s everything that Harry doesn’t deserve.

“I’ve got to go,” Louis says weakly.

He can’t do this, can’t stay and watch Harry look like that for a second longer, because he _is_ a coward, he _is_ weak.

So he squeezes his eyes shut, turns, and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha. ha ha. (((((((pls don't kill me)))))))))
> 
> (you should absolutely comment and tell me your favourite part your comments are like oxygen to me)


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this chapter took a little longer than normal - I've been working overtime this week and I graduated from Uni today so it's all been a bit hectic. It took me a long time to be satisfied with this chapter and I couldn't have done it without the tireless support of Babz, who was brutally honest when I needed it and consistently happy to let me badger her. I hope you guys like it as much as we do!

The pub feels loud, too loud, when Louis stumbles back inside. He trips a little over his own feet, pressing almost blindly forward, and wipes the back of his hand across his dry, dry lips. Liam’s still at the pool table. He’s clutching a half empty beer bottle, his head thrown back in a gleeful laugh, completely unaware of all the shit Louis’ just thrown his way.

Louis rushes to his side anyway, because apparently he’s selfish on top of everything else. 

“Louis!” Liam shouts when Louis appears next to him. He swings his heavy arm over Louis’ shoulder and pulls him in close. He’s sweaty and warm and drunk. “Louis — you were gone! Where’d you go?”  

Louis clenches his teeth and snatches Liam’s drink. He downs it in record time.

Liam promptly forgets everything he’d been talking about and whines. “ _No_! Louis! You don’t even like beer!!”

That’s true. Louis really doesn’t like beer. It’s bitter and tangy and exactly the wrong kind of bubbly. It’s not nearly alcoholic enough, either. But this isn’t the time to be picky. There’s no way he’s leaving Liam’s side, not now, not even to get another drink.

“Hey — hey now, none of that!” Niall’s drunken holler interrupts them from across the room.

He gesticulates wildly at Liam and Louis, scowling pointedly at the way that they’re nestled so close. Louis fights the urge to drag Liam nearer, not at all ready to part with his big, shoulder-y human shield.

He doesn’t see Harry. He hasn’t even seen him come in after — after— but suddenly it’s almost like he can feel his presence in the room. Like all of his instincts are working desperately to make sure he knows exactly when Harry walks into the room. And he does. The hair stands up on the back of his neck and a shiver runs down his spine. Louis clutches almost desperately at Liam’s hand.

Liam turns and peers down at him with hazy, bewildered eyes. “You okay?” asks quietly.

Niall interrupts before Louis can answer. “Quit it!” he laughs. “Stop — stop coupling!”

Louis doesn’t say anything — god, fuck, he doesn’t even have anything to say. Liam looks confusedly from Niall to Louis and then back again. Then he lets out a goofy little laugh. “What?” he giggles.

Niall waves at them so wildly that some of the liquid sloshes over the edge of his glass. It splashes onto the green felt of the pool table, adding to what Louis is absolutely sure is an already exotic array of stains. “This is a bachelor party!” Niall sings. “This is a time for — for _bachelors_!”

The lads from Niall’s work all roar their support. Geoff and Bobby, who are sitting off to the side, lift their drinks in a tired, half-hearted toast.

Miraculously — because Liam is a miracle in and of himself — Liam’s grip on Louis’ hand tightens.

“M’not a bachelor, Nialler,” he says.

God, what in the fucking fuck did Louis do to deserve him?

“And _why_ —?” Liam continues grandly, “—would I let him go when I get to have a drink and a cuddle all at the same time?”

Okay, so he’s kind of a dork. But it’s exactly the right kind of endearing goofiness that Louis needs right now — it calms his racing heart, soothes his frantic, pounding brain.

Niall lets out a happy little sigh. “Ugh, you’re right,” he says. He looks a little funny — like he’s trying for something wistful but, too drunk to make it happen, ends up looking like he’s smelt something odd. “God, I wanna get married right the fuck now — I’m so ready to be a proper couple, fuck, just look at you guys.”

Liam tightens his arm around Louis’ neck, grins widely and raises his empty glass in response to the cheering they receive.

Louis’ keeps his head down, hyper aware of the head of curls lingering at the corner of his vision, and doesn’t dare risk looking Harry in the eye.

.

Louis shadows Liam for the rest of the night. He steals a grand total of four more drinks right out of Liam’s hands, in addition to the several he orders when Liam wanders near the bar. He doesn’t speak to Harry, doesn’t even look at him.

The pub closes at around four in the morning and when the bartender shoos them away Niall is happy to leave. He’d been a bit mope-y in the last hour, whining about how Gemma should have been with them because she’d make the night all the more exciting. Louis isn’t in the mood to appreciate it but a part of him knows how important that is. It’s exactly the kind of thing that he’d want to hear from whatever bloke Lottie decides is good enough for her. Or any of the girls, for that matter.

Liam clearly knows that something is wrong. Liam’s always been a bit of a drunk cuddler, but even taking that into account he’s been surprisingly gracious in allowing Louis to hang off him for half the evening. He musses up Louis’ hair and threads their fingers together and showers him in the fond and friendly affection that Louis absolutely needs right now.

And Louis’ pretty drunk (and upset, and confused, and overwhelmed,) but he has it in him at least to think that yeah, Liam’s pretty great.

He falls asleep as soon as they get home though — which is absolutely understandable considering the day they’ve all had, but also awful because it leaves Louis alone in the room with only his thoughts and Liam’s snores for company.

By the time the sun peeks through the curtains the following morning, Louis’ spent more time rubbing at his eyes than anything. Granted, it’s only been about two hours since they’d climbed into bed, but that’s exactly enough time for the alcohol to wear off and the headache to settle in. In the quiet of the morning, while the birds sing and boast about how wonderful their hangover, ex-boyfriend free lives are, Louis takes a catalogue of everything that feels wrong. His mouth tastes foul, his cheeks are puffy and there’s a throbbing in his head that’s one part hangover and three parts the lump from where he’d hit his head on the wall the night before.

His lips are bitten raw. It had been almost compulsive in the hours before and after he’d fallen asleep — he’d managed to nod off for a hazy fifteen minutes somewhere around five thirty — something easy and painful to keep his mind distracted. A part of it is almost familiar, throws him back to the nights he’d kissed Harry until his jaw hurt. It’s as close as Louis’ going to get now, he supposes, so he savours it.

He savours a lot of things, actually. As much as the logical part of him screams for him to ignore and repress everything that had happened between him and Harry, the rest of Louis just can’t let it go. He lingers on the memory of Harry’s throaty whisper, the caress of his breath as it fanned out across his lips. He thinks about what might have happened if the bartender hadn’t interrupted, how far Louis would have tried to push him before they reached their limit. It might have just been a kiss, a sweet press of lips to bring them both some sense of closure, but Louis can’t trust himself. He knows, he _knows,_ that if he’d been given the opportunity to taste Harry for a final time — he would have taken everything he could fucking get. He would have scraped his nails across Harry’s skin, pinched at Harry’s curious nipples, pulled at his tempting curls.

If Louis had had his way, they’d have fucked right there in the alley.

He’s an awful, desperate mix of embarrassed, confused and turned on when Liam wakes up. He rises easily, like he’s slept ten hours instead of three, and moves straight for his running gear. He’s mid-stretch when he catches Louis’ eyes.

He stills, his hands held high up in the air. “Lou?” he says.

His voice is the only give away that he’s been drinking — it’s raspy, and speaks to all the rambunctious laughing, shouting, hollering he’d done the night before.

Louis burrows a little further into his blankets. He’s got the edges tucked over his ears, his fists bunched into the soft fabric. It makes him feel warm and contained and maybe even somewhat shielded from the outside world. It feels, bizarrely, as though the comforter is the only thing that’s still holding him together.

“Morning,” he says quietly. His lips sting, but he doesn’t mind.

Liam hesitates for a second before he lets his arms drop. He rolls his shoulders a little, cricking his neck, all the while keeping his shrewd gaze trained on Louis. “I didn’t think you’d be up,” he says.

He sounds cautious, tentative in a way he hasn’t been with Louis in a long time. It harks back to their early days, when Liam hadn’t always known where Louis was coming from or what he might do.

He clearly recalls Louis’ behaviour from the night before.

Louis does his best to act natural. “The sun is up and so am I,” he says gamely. For the most part he succeeds, his airy voice and bright smile floating through the small room. But it doesn’t deceive Liam, not for a second.

Louis needs to get some less observant friends.

Liam’s eyes narrow, the way they always do when he’s trying to figure out who the murderer on a crime show is before the main characters can. He’s actually pretty good at it, so Louis really doesn’t like seeing that look directed at him.

Liam sounds careful when he speaks next. “Did you sleep well?”

Louis thinks the answer to that is probably abundantly clear. He sinks further under the covers, if only to try and hide his obviously bloodshot eyes. He can see the puffy rise of his cheeks, feel the tender spots where his lips are close to bleeding.

He clears his throat and stares at the ground. Liam’s toes look hilarious, curled up in the soft carpet. “Yeah,” he says throatily. “Yeah, it was alright.”

Liam’s pyjama pants are too short for him, he notes. They show off his ankles and make him look a bit like a giant.

Liam tries again. “Did you have a good night last night?” he asks.

He sounds so earnest, is the thing. Like the only thing he wants is to see Louis smile, to know that Louis enjoyed himself. Louis knows how selfless Liam can be. He has seen it a thousand times, been surprised by every kind smile and empathetic eye crinkle, but this time? This time — with his lips stinging and his eyes even worse — it’s all a little too much.

He shrinks back even further as his eyes begin to water. God, this is so fucking embarrassing. Liam’s seen him do all kinds of bizarre shit, all kinds of intimate, personal shit as well, but crying in front of him seems like the worst offence. He’s supposed to be taking care of Liam, for fucks sake, not welling up like this.

“Yeah — yeah, course,” Louis says hastily. He does his best to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes, avoids looking at Liam all together and prays that maybe he won’t say anything. “Great time, those bars were wicked.” It sounds awkward, the words rushed and slightly forced. He tries not to think about it, powers on. “What about you? Did you have a good time?”

He doesn’t look up to see how Liam has reacted, but the silence is telling enough. He sees from the corner of his eyes the way that Liam hesitates for a moment, before slowly walking closer. He lowers himself cautiously onto the edge of the bed.

“Louis...” he says carefully.

Louis tries to laugh, tries to brush it off like he always would, only it comes out wet and awful and makes everything just a little bit worse. “God, fuck,” he says. “Shit.” The jig is up, it seems. He frees one of his hands from his blanket cocoon and wipes furiously at the corners of his eyes. It scrubs harshly at the already tender skin and does absolutely nothing to stem the flow of his clingy, persistent tears.

Liam settles a big hand on Louis’ shoulder and rubs as reassuringly as he can through the thick comforter.

“Hey, hey,” Liam says warmly. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

It’s so, so stupid that he’s crying about this. And it’s even stupider that Liam’s got to put up with it.

Louis shakes his head. “No, fuck, don’t — it, it isn’t even a problem, don’t even worry. I’m just being silly.”

Liam shushes him remarkably quickly and moves his hand from Louis’ shoulder to his head. He pats Louis’ hair down, probably not even beginning to tame the wild mess it’s become overnight.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Liam says patiently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I don’t — I don’t know.”

“Is it just your hangover?” Liam asks. “You’ve got a pretty nasty bump on the back of your head here, mate, when’d that happen?”

God, Liam doesn’t even fucking know. Somehow that makes him feel worse. He knows he hasn’t technically done anything wrong, that Liam’s not his boyfriend and that he hasn’t really cheated — but he kind of has, hasn’t he? Maybe not to Liam, but certainly to Harry. What must Harry have thought, seeing Louis so ready and willing and desperate? It must have been something about Liam, some sad little moment thinking about the boy Louis was messing around.

And even if Liam doesn’t get mad — even if he doesn’t think that it counts — he’s still relying on Louis, isn’t he? What if Harry tells Niall, just awkwardly mentions it at brunch today: ‘ _oh, yeah, you know Liam’s new boyfriend. He practically threw himself at me last night_.’ What happens then, when all of Liam’s friends and family start to believe that Liam’s dating some cheater deadbeat?

“Fuck,” he says, “Liam, I think I fucked up.”

He _knows_ he fucked up, actually, but he doesn’t have any idea how to say it.

Liam just nods his head calmly, his hand still stroking delicately across the back of Louis’ head. “Okay,” he says. “That’s fine. Just tell me what happened, and we’ll get it sorted.”

Louis scrunches his eyes up, clenches his jaw shut. He’s got to tell him, he’s _got_ to tell him. It doesn’t matter whether Harry tells everyone or not because the damage is done. He’s turned Liam into a fucking joke.

Liam deserves the truth, Louis thinks resolutely, and Louis deserves to face the consequences of his lie.

He pulls away from Liam, wiping furiously at his eyes and not thinking about how red and blotchy his face must be. He sits up, some of the blankets toppling backwards and allowing the chilled morning air to shiver up his spine. The dizziness feels worse now that he’s upright and there’s a lurch in his tummy that isn’t promising at all. Karmic retribution, he supposes.

Liam is quiet, waiting patiently.

“Whatever it is,” he says, when Louis doesn’t immediately start talking. “Just tell me. We’ll work it out.”

Louis nods weepily, and tries to sort himself out. This is fucking ridiculous, his brain scolds him. Grow up and stop acting like a child. He pulls his shirt sleeve over his fist and wipes futilely at his eyes again.

“God, shit,” Liam suddenly says. “It’s me, isn’t it?” And before Louis can do any more than drop his jaw at how _wildly_ _stupid_ that idea is, Liam’s off. “Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have made you do this — Lou, I’m so sorry, we can go home right now. I’ll explain everything — you don’t have to — you’ve already done so much, I’m so sorry, _God—_ ”

Louis, brain leaping frantically from desperate thought to desperate thought, lifts his head to look at Liam properly and shakes his head. “No! What, Liam—?”

“I’m sorry I was so over the top last night, it’s just that I was drunk and I — god, no, that’s not an excuse. I’ll get you a train ticket right now, don’t even worry. Fuck, I wish you’d said something earlier, I knew this was a bad idea,” Liam rambles on.

Louis tries interrupting him twice more, perhaps not putting quite as much effort into it as he should, but each time Liam speaks over him. He suddenly looks as stressed as Louis feels, his eyes sad and his face scrunched up. It’s absolutely awful, Louis thinks, and he won’t have it.

“I kissed Harry,” Louis says.

Liam’s jaw snaps shut.

He blinks.

Louis stays awkwardly still during the ensuing silence. He takes the time to wipe at his eyes once more, then folds his hands in his lap and waits. Whoever said that ripping off the bandaid and dealing with the ensuing carnage was easier than the gentle approach had clearly never been forced to look into Liam Payne’s eyes before. Strangely, or maybe not strangely at all, looking at Liam now is kind of like looking at Louis’ aunt’s golden retriever that time he’d accidentally trod on her paw.

“I mean,” he says, considerably quieter. “I didn’t like — _kiss him_ , kiss him — but I like. We almost. I would have, if...”

He is not doing well, _at all._

Liam’s still just kind of gaping. He’s silent in a way that makes Louis’ blood thrum with anxiety. Louis hasn’t actually seen him like this before — not when Sean left, or even Danielle. This is a new expression, something entirely unfamiliar, and it’s really fucking scary.

Louis’ voice is smaller still, when he continues. “Liam?” he says, meek and nervous and sorry all at once. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just — we just, I don’t know—”

“Wait,” Liam says abruptly. Louis falls silent in the same second, waits. “You kissed Harry?”

Louis hesitates, blinking away the tears that are so close to spilling down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he croaks.

Liam falls quiet again and Louis is sure this is it. It won’t be long before Liam shoves him away and starts demanding he leave. Louis looks around the room, cataloguing the things he’ll have to pack in favour of looking at Liam, of seeing what’s going on behind his eyes. Some of his clothes are lying on the floor, his sneakers are on their side near the door, and his jacket’s hanging over the edge of the bed. It shouldn’t take him more than two minutes to gather all that in his suitcase and get out of Liam’s hair.

“Louis,” Liam says quietly.

Louis braces himself. He looks up and meets Liam’s eye because that’s the least he can do.

Then Liam begins to smile. “Please don’t look at me like that,” he says. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

And that—

That is not what Louis had been expecting.

“What?” Louis says breathlessly.

Liam’s eyes scrunch up at the sides. He bites his lip and shoots Louis a sad little look. “I should be the one apologising,” he says — and _where_ in the _hell_ did that come from? “After all, we’re not actually dating. And Harry’s a pretty fit bloke, I can definitely see you two together, you should go for it.”

And wow, okay, Louis needs to stop this _right now._  

“No,” Louis says, his voice almost shrill with panic. This is not helping with the frenzied buzz of thoughts in his head, no sir. “No, Liam — _what_?”

Liam shrugs. “With Harry,” he explains — or tries to explain, because absolutely _none_ of this is making any sense to Louis. In fact, the pounding of his heart is almost too much all on its own.. He can feel it in the tips of his fingers, the rush of blood pumping frantically through his veins. He feels hot, too hot, in his long sleeve top and pyjama pants. It’s stifling, claustrophobic — although maybe that has something to do with the hot press of Liam’s gaze, the brightness of his smile.

“You should, you know, go for it,” Liam then says. “If you want. I mean, you’re clearly pretty caught up on him — and I think he’d probably be up for it. He looks at you funny sometimes—”

No, Louis thinks. No way. There is no way that this is happening.

“I mean,” Liam is still babbling on. “I didn’t think he’d actually go for it since, you know, you and _I_ are supposed to be dating — but that must mean he really likes you, and who am I to stand in the way of true—?”

For the second time in the space of about ten minutes the tears that Louis’ been trying so valiantly to stall break free. He claps his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the ugly sounds that are escaping him and as embarrassing as it is, as awful and tiring as it is, it’s still better than hearing what Liam had been about to say.

“Oh god,” Liam says — and in an instant, he’s wrapped Louis up in his arms once more. The position is a little strange, the way that they’re awkwardly sitting up, still half caught up under the covers. “Fuck, Louis, please don’t cry.”

Liam is absolutely rubbish with tears. Louis knows that already, knows that he’s only making it harder for them both, but he can’t _fucking_ stop. He’s tired, he’s hung over and his best friend is being far, far too understanding about this mess that Louis’ gotten them into. So he cries.

Liam catches his head between his hands, dragging Louis physically from his thoughts until Louis’ looking him straight in the eyes.

“Louis,” he says his voice stern. “Please calm down. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

And it’s ridiculous, honestly it is, that after all this Liam is still planning on doing everything that he can to help.

Liam smiles, a small, little thing, like he can read Louis’ thoughts through the blotchy red cheeks and the wet, bloodshot eyes. “I’m your best friend,” he says, softly this time. “You know you can tell me anything.”

His hands are still on Louis’ cheeks, his giant palms holding Louis steady. Somehow, impossibly, it slows Louis’ thoughts for a second. The wide spread of his fingers holds Louis still and gives him a few seconds free of his hurried, panicked thoughts. This is his best friend, Louis thinks. Liam is his best friend.

Louis reaches up to gently hold one of Liam’s wrists, grounding himself even further before he takes a deep breath.

“Harry and I dated,” he says, his words raspy and whisper soft. “And I think I’m still in love with him.”

The words settle something in him. It sounds stupid — fucking _ridiculous_ — even, but it’s the truth. His head still hurts like crazy and the guilt in his gut hasn’t lessened in the slightest — but the heavy thump of Louis’ heart slows slightly. Just enough to sedate the thoughts flying wildly through his head, pausing for a moment for him to think: _Yeah, that’s probably it._ He doesn’t remember falling out of love with Harry, so it only serves to reason that he wouldn’t notice falling back in.

But his own reaction takes a back seat to Liam’s. His thoughts may have calmed but there’s no mistaking the spike of nervousness that runs through him, that this might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Liam nods his head a few times, quiet while he takes in what Louis’ just said. There’s a long, stilted second as Louis’ heart climbs higher and higher into his throat, before Liam scrapes one of his thumbs across the wet rise of Louis’ cheek. He wipes away the remnants of some tears, keeps Louis anchored while his heart jumps into his throat.

“Okay,” Liam says as he begins to nod. “Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just waits.

“I’m going to go downstairs.” Louis’ expression must do something funny because Liam follows that with a hasty, “ _I’m not mad;_ I just need to go and talk to my parents. They’re expecting us downstairs for brunch with — well, I guess you know exactly who with. I’m going to tell them that you’re not feeling well, then I’m going to come back up here and we’re going to go back to sleep. Does that sound okay?”

Louis doesn’t think that sounds okay at all. In fact, he thinks that’s the opposite of okay. He tries to say so, to say how strange it is that Liam doesn’t want any more answers, but Liam brushes him off.

“ _Then_ ,” Liam says, talking over Louis’ protests. “Once you’ve had some more sleep and your hangover has calmed down, you’re going to explain. Alright?”

Louis swallows thickly, grips Liam’s wrist a little more firmly, and nods. “Alright.”

Liam vanishes downstairs for about fifteen minutes. Louis lingers under the covers for the first three, before he climbs out of bed. He washes his face in the bathroom, avoids looking his own reflection in the eye, and changes into a tank before slipping back into bed. When Liam gets back he abandons his makeshift bed on the ground, climbing into the tiny single with Louis and wrapping himself around him like the giant, sweaty limpet he’s always been. Under any other circumstances, Louis would complain — but right now it’s exactly what he needs. Liam’s thick bicep holds him securely while he drifts back to sleep — quickly and quietly, the way Louis always does when he’s cried his eyes out. And it’s nice, it’s warm and sweet and comforting to have Liam there and know that he’s not going anywhere.

He must get up at some point while Louis’ sleeps, though, because when Louis does wake up — there’s a television set and an X-box set up that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey,” Liam says when Louis finally stirs. “You feeling any better?”

Louis doesn’t really know the answer to that. All the crying has made his headache worse, but his thoughts are a little clearer, and his limbs feel more like his own. The flood of guilt in his stomach hasn’t dissipated, but Louis hadn’t expected it to.

It feels honest when he replies with a nod. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I do.”

Liam smiles. “Good,” he says. “I got you some breakfast,” he points to a plate of sliced fruit that’s balancing on the bedside table. “There’s apple and banana and grapes. And strawberries, of course. Mum even let me cut up one of the pineapples. I brought you the crunchy middle bit.”

Louis loves the crunchy middle bit. He takes it with a grateful sniff.

“They all left about an hour ago,” Liam continues to say. “Mum said that she hopes you feel better. She’s going to bring some medicine home as well, for your head.”

That stirs the guilt in his gut somewhat significantly, but Louis tries not to think about it. He smiles a little shakily instead. “Thanks,” he says, “but she doesn’t have to bother. I’ll be fine.”

Liam looks sceptical. “I haven’t forgotten about the bump on your head, mate,” he says, nodding to the top of Louis’ skull. “I’m sure a little medicine won’t go astray.”

And, well, Louis can’t really refute that,. “Right.”

“You wanna maybe tell me how you got it?” Liam says.

Louis hesitates.

Liam shuffles a little closer, shifting his weight and propping his head up with his hand. “Why don’t we start with that,” he urges, “and then you can tell me what the hell’s gone one between you and Harry?”

That sentence doesn’t even begin to cover it. Louis does his best to smile though. The end result is tired and watery, but it feels less like a grimace than Louis expected.

“I reckon it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Louis says, more into the pillow than anything else.

Liam punches him lightly in the arm. It’s affectionate and fond and exactly what Liam needs right now. “Un-complicate it then,” he says.

And, Louis thinks, the only thing he can do it give it a try. Liam deserves that much, at the very least.

.

Louis tells him what he can stomach. It’s hard, running through their history and not being able to explain how much it means. There are feelings and thoughts attached to every single moment Louis spent with Harry — even the small, little things, like the way Harry used to order pineapple on pizza just so he could pick it off and give Louis extra, or the way he was always losing socks. Having to relive the moment they’d met, the years they’d spent together and the day that they’d ended in such stark detail almost feels like it’s dishonouring their memory.

Which is bullshit, because there’s clearly nothing left to honour. Now, it’s just Louis lingering on the past and dragging the people around him down with him.

They’d met in University. Their first date had been in the library. Harry met Louis’ mum, then Louis met Harry’s mum. They’d loved and fought and fucked their way through two dorm room singles and got their own little flat by the time that they both graduated.

They’d parted ways in the middle of May, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. Louis can remember the heat of the sun on his bare shoulders that had made all those tears so much worse. The headache he’d had after they'd parted had lasted for days.

(He hadn’t cared though. He’d stayed inside anyway, with the lights turned out and the curtains shut. What was a little headache compared to watching Harry walk away?)

They’d broken up and that had been the end of it.

“But why?”

Liam’s voice sounds hoarse when he speaks. He’s been quiet until now, and still, apparently completely happy to let Louis do the talking. It’s the first question he’s asked.

Louis frowns. “Why what?” he asks.

“Why’d you break up?” he asks. “What happened? You were obviously happy together — what changed?”

Something ugly and defensive rears its head, and Louis feels his hackles rise almost instinctively. He stifles the urge to lash out — but can’t quite keep the frustration from his voice. “I don’t know, Liam,” he says. “People break up, it happens.”

He says it sternly, trying to make it clear how little he wants to continue this line of questioning. That should be the end of it. It isn’t.

“No, it doesn’t,” Liam says stubbornly. The frown at his brow is morphing into the beginnings of a confused, frustrated scowl. “Relationships don’t _just_ end. I mean, sometimes you lose the chemistry or you fall out of love but they don’t just stop. There’s a reason.”

Louis shifts his weight, staring angrily down at his hands and pointedly refusing to acknowledge the awkward swirl of _something_ that settles heavily in his gut.

“I don’t know!” he says. “We just — I don’t know, we grew apart, or whatever. We grew _up_. Our lives went in two different directions, he didn’t want to stay — ”

Liam shushes him there, even going so far as to lift his hand in the middle of the air. Louis’ jaw snaps shut and he recalls his last words with a red flush rising high in his cheeks.

“He didn’t want to—?”

“Can we just drop it?” Louis interrupts shrilly. “I don’t want to talk about it — I just — I don’t, alright?”

Liam’s frown softens and he shoots Louis an incredibly sad, incredibly understanding look. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it,” he says imploringly.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and vaguely wishes he could push away the world for a moment or two. That’s what’s so frustrating, he thinks. Liam can try all he wants, can do his absolute fucking best, but he’s never going to understand the thrumming fire that lights Louis’ veins whenever Harry is concerned. Whether it’s lust or adrenalin or panic or love, it’s there, it’s _always_ there — and Louis doesn’t know how he can explain that without sounding like a total knob.

“I know,” Louis says, after a moment’s pause. “I know you’re trying — I just, some of it I don’t even get, okay? And I really don’t want to talk about it that much.”

Liam is quiet for a minute further, contemplative and soft as he pauses to take it all in. Finally, just as the silence is edging the wrong side of stagnant, he lets out a little sigh.

“Okay,” he says. “I get it.”

Louis feels his muscles relax and it’s the first moment he realises how tensely he’d been holding himself. He lets himself sink into the mattress a little, takes a deep breath and focuses on the relief that Liam kind of understands.

“Can I ask one more question, though?”

Louis braces himself and nods.

Liam hesitates for a second. When he speaks, the words rush out of him like it’s almost a relief that he can finally ask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis frowns. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “When I moved to Manchester I didn’t really want to think about it that much, I didn’t like talking about it.”

Liam nods, but scrunches up his face like that isn’t quite right. “Okay. I get that bit, sure. But I mean like, when you saw him here? Why didn’t you drag me upstairs and tell me that your ex-boyfriend was part of the wedding party?”

Louis cringes. How exactly does he explain that Harry clearly didn’t want anyone to know about their history?

Louis shoots Liam a grim smile. “I didn’t want you to stress,” he says. “You were already freaking out about our lie and, like, Harry clearly didn’t want to tell anyone so I — it wasn’t important, you didn’t need to know.”

Liam’s responding look is disappointed, more disappointed than he’s looked this entire exchange. “Louis,” he sighs.

Louis shrugs defensively. “It wasn’t important, Liam!” he says again.

“Of course it was!” Liam replies. “You were upset and you were stressed and I’m your best friend — that’s what I’m here for.”

Louis just shrugs. There isn’t much more for him to say.

“I think we should talk about it some more,” Liam continues. He keeps talking, too quickly for Louis to tense up again. “But if you don’t want to do that right now, that’s fine. Do you wanna play some Call of Duty or something?”

Yes, a voice in Louis’ head sighs. Yes, that’s exactly the kind of mindless shit that will help in a time like this.

“We’ll go get some food a bit later,” Liam nods as he reaches out to the controllers. He flicks the telly on with the remote before settling back on the bed and passing the red controller to Louis. “But for now we’ll just chill and wait for your headache to go away. Does that sound alright?”

It sounds absolutely more than alright, Louis thinks. In fact, it’s probably the best plan of action he’s had all fucking week.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments and kudos are the only thing that keeps me motivated to post every week so please, please keep it up. I cherish every single one of them!! x


	8. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this week's chapter is a little late once again, but it's still Friday so technically you guys can't complain. Because of how busy I've been the last two weeks, I only finished this late last night which means a MASSIVE MASSIVE thank you must go to the amazing dedicated and lovely Clare and Babz, who edited this with about twelve hours left on the deadline.

Louis allows Liam to drag him from bed at around four o’clock that afternoon. He wants to stay — could probably stay wrapped up in their safe little cocoon of blankets and x-box games for another couple of days — but tonight is non-negotiable and, begrudgingly, he understands that. Missing a brunch is one thing, he thinks, but missing the rehearsal dinner is something on a whole other level.

At least the dress code for the night is casual, Louis reasons as he strips off his pyjamas and reaches for his jeans. If he had to spend the night trussed up in a suit before having to do exactly the same thing again the following day, he’d probably do something stupid like cry or explode from frustration.

“It’s _smart_ casual,” Liam corrects him when Louis mentions it to him, but that particular distinction doesn’t bother Louis. As long as he can wear hisjeans, he doesn’t care whether or not his shirt’s got to have a collar.

They head downstairs around five thirty. Liam’s family have given them a significantly wide berth for most of the day, interrupting their cuddling session only once when Karen had poked her nose in with two aspirin pills and a bottle of water. She had taken one look at them, sat up against the bed head, nestled together with their x-box controllers in hand, before her face had lit up. “Don’t worry about me,” she had hushed them, bustling into the room to set down the medicine. She’d fluffed their blanket a little, despite Liam’s whines and protests, and shot Louis a wide, bright smile before she’d left them alone. “Just let me know if you need anything, Louis sweetheart. Can’t have you getting sick before the big day!”

She looks just as excited and optimistic when they reach the bottom of the stairs. She’s got a nice blue dress on, her lips a cherry red, and Liam’s crinkly-eyed grin on her face. As soon as Liam’s foot hits the landing, she’s in front of him and fussing at his collar.

“Look at you boys, all cleaned up,” she says. She flattens down Liam’s shirt before reaching up and pinching his cheeks.

Liam recoils as best he can — which, under his mother’s prodding grip isn’t very much at all — and from behind her, Geoff sighs. “God’s sake, Karen, leave them be.”

Karen looks a little teary, but frees Liam’s cheek — which is flushed a sweet, embarrassed pink. “I just can’t believe how quick times passed, that’s all,” she says over her shoulder. Then she turns back to Liam. “Little Niall’s getting married tomorrow — it seems like just yesterday you and him were playing naked in the paddling pool out back.”

“Mum!” Liam near-shrieks, scandalised.

Louis shoots a very smug smile in Liam’s direction and feels immensely better about the evening.

Geoff takes control from there, kicking them all into gear and getting them to head towards the door. They’re going in Liam’s car — his big five seater the only car that would fit the four of them comfortably. Nicola and Ruth had left earlier in the afternoon, eager to help Gemma with all the preliminary preparations. Louis relinquishes the front passenger seat to Karen, and shares the back seat with Geoff. (Liam has obviously refused to give up the right to drive.) Conversation flows easily as they drive, Karen happily telling Liam about all the decorations and the colour schemes that should already be laid out and Louis is very content to sit quietly in the back and listen. Neither Karen or Geoff feel the need to ask about their day, or how Louis’ feeling — which is an honest to Christ godsend in Louis’ opinion, because he has no idea how to reply.

He doesn’t know how he feels, is the thing. His blood still thrills with a combination of stress and exhaustion and panic, but it seems slightly numb now. It’s almost as though Liam has lifted a weight off his shoulders, just by nodding and promising that everything was going to be okay.

There’s a reason people have best friends, is his latest epiphany. And to forget how supportive and understanding best friends always are was a fairly colossal mistake.

Liam proves how wonderful he is once again by holding out his hand as soon as they get out of the car. Gravel crunches under Louis’ shoes as he climbs out of the backseat, dust still settling in the air from where the heavy car tires had disturbed it, but Louis barely notices. The vineyard is exceptionally beautiful now, with the sun just beginning to set over a scene of green rolling hills and twisting grapevines.  

That’s when Liam holds out his hand. “Shall we?” he says.

They’d talked about how to handle this before they’d even gotten out of bed. Liam always works a little better with a clear and concise plan in his head, and considering the shit storm Louis’ started without a proper plan, Louis figures the least he can do is humour him.

“You’re going to act _natural_ , alright?” Liam had instructed clearly. “Just stick with me, we’ll do exactly what Niall and Gemma tell us to do, and it’ll all be over before we know it.” He sounded sure enough that Louis felt it within him to be a little optimistic. Maybe now that Liam knew, this whole thing _would_ go much smoother. After all, it was one less person to lie to now, wasn’t it? And now if anything went wrong or got awkward, at least Liam would know and try and help fix the situation.

“And I promise I won’t leave you alone with him,” Liam adds, like an afterthought. He doesn’t need to specify who ‘him’ is. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Louis has a lot to worry about, he thinks. But Liam doesn’t need to hear him whine about it.

He holds Liam’s hand tightly as they walk towards the entrance. It’s vaguely amusing, and a nice little distraction, to watch Karen wobble across the gravel in her heels. Geoff it standing steadfastly at her side, making sure that she doesn’t fall and grumbling every time she insists that she’s not an old woman and she doesn’t need any help. It strikes Louis, rather abruptly, that they’re pretty much the exact definition of ‘old married couple’. Probably even a snapshot of what Niall and Gemma are going to be twenty years down the road.

It’s one of those overwhelming moment, the kind of introspection that makes his head swirl tightly, and for a second he doesn’t worry at all about what might be awaiting him inside the grand white canopy tent ahead of them. It’d be nice to find someone like that, he thinks, someone who he loves so much that he wouldn’t mind bickering with them for the rest of his life.

Of course, that train of thought leads his brain straight back to Harry and he swallows. They’d — they’d had plans like that once, had talked about it a few times. Only in passing, in sweet little moments and silly, wistful jokes.

(The day Louis had found a grey hair — a _grey hair_ — had been a particularly wonderful day. He’d plucked it from his head, shrieking loud enough to stir Harry from his sleep, and shoved the singular hair right in his face. “ _I’m only twenty-one_!” he’d shout-whispered. “ _How can this be happening?!”_  

Harry had groaned, trapping Louis in a tight, sleep warm hug and refusing to let him leave no matter how much Louis’ struggled. “ _Mhmmmm_ ,” he’d grumbled into Louis’ hair, ignoring Louis’ hissing protests and flailing limbs. “ _Well, you are pretty ugly. It was bound to happen eventually...”_

The situation had only devolved from there.)

He very pointedly shoves that memory from his mind and directs all his energy into focusing on the task at hand.

Niall and Gemma have done a remarkably good job deciding where to get married. Almost everything has been set up by now — a good thing, considering the wedding begins at one the next day. Rows of white chairs litter the green hill that overlooks the vineyard, leading up to a stunning floral archway under which the nuptials will take place. The chairs and aisle are decorated with ribbons — “and flower petals,” Karen says, as they walk past. “They’re going to put flower petals all over for the actual ceremony.” The table where Gemma and Niall will sign their single life away doesn’t look like much, up behind the archway, but that’s only because they’ve decided to leave it free of decorations until the day after.

Further up the hill, closer to the winery itself, is where the large white canopy sits. It’s connected to building, an extension of the restaurant that overlooks the vineyard. For the moment, underneath the canopy is nothing but a large empty space, but Louis knows that’s where they’ll be having the reception the following night. Because they don’t have to accommodate so many guests, they’ll be eating tonight in the restaurant itself.

But food is still awhile off.

“Feel a bit out of place,” Liam says, as they get closer. He tugs at his shirt hem, like he’s trying to straighten it out. “Probably should have worn a coat or something.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “We’re fine,” he says. “Look at what Niall’s wearing.”

Of course, _of course,_ Niall is wearing the jersey Liam had awarded him with the night before. He’s got the sleeves pushed up and the collar flipped and has paired it with some faded, dusty jeans.

Gemma sidles up to them out of nowhere, apparently catching the tail end of their conversation. “Yeah,” she says, shooting Liam a pointed look. “I hear you’re the man to thank for _that_ particular disaster.” 

She looks pointedly at Niall, and if anything, looks fonder of him than Louis’ seen before. Liam flushes anyway.

“Erm,” he says, squeezing Louis’ hand a little bit. “Yeah.”

Louis decides to come to his rescue. “Look at his smile though, hey?” he says, gesturing over at the mad, excited grin Niall’s got plastered across his face. “That’s gotta be the most important thing.”

Gemma sighs, but can’t quite hide the dreamy little smile on her face. “Yeah,” she says.

Louis and Liam share a look. Liam’s awkwardness fades as his grin begins to emerge, knowing and proud and happy all at once. “You excited for tomorrow?” he asks slowly.

This time it’s Gemma who blushes. “Shut up,” she says sternly. “Yes. Get your butts over there.”

She stalks off before they can say anything more, ignoring Liam’s hearty chuckle. If there’s any salvation to be found in this mess of a week, Louis can at least admit that getting to see Gemma and Niall promise themselves to each other is a privilege. A part of him is extremely glad that he can be there.

Course, then he sees Harry and his anxiety thunders back in record time.

In the second that Louis allows himself to look, he registers several things. The first is that Harry looks good, and sure, Louis’ got a predisposition to thinking that Harry looks good, but this afternoon he’s really outdoing himself. His interpretation of smart casual is a little off the cuff — his white jeans and bright floral button down standing out amongst a sea of dark denim and checked and stripe prints — but the white clings to his legs and the shirt drapes off his large shoulders almost artfully. But more importantly — far more importantly, despite Louis’ clearly botched set of priorities — Louis notices as he stares that Harry is standing next to a woman, a very recognisable woman, who is staring right the fuck back.

Louis recoils like he’s burned, physically twisting his body away and turning to face Liam. He must look like an absolute head case, he thinks as he squeezes desperately at Liam’s hand.

“Whoa,” Liam hisses, stopping abruptly as Louis gets in his way. “Shit, what is it?”

Louis forces himself to breath, ignores the heavy heat he can feel on the back of his neck, like Harry and his mother are staining his skin with their stare. “It’s — fuck, sorry — his mum was looking at me.”

Liam’s been filled in on the Anne situation, on top of everything else, so he doesn’t look too taken off guard. Instead, his initial surprise gives way to something soft and he bends his head down a little to look at Louis clearly.

“ _Act natural_ ,” he says. “Remember?”

But that, Louis thinks as he remembers the feeling of Anne’s piercing gaze, that acting natural is certainly easier said than done.

.

Running through the ceremony takes about an hour. Louis and the Payne’s had arrived just on the cusp of being on time, so there’s no time for any ‘introductions’ before they get into the meat of the rehearsal. Gemma’s wedding planned runs them through it step by step, and there’s only a few mishaps (Maura tears up as she pretends to do her reading, one of Gemma’s friends trips over the leg of one of the chairs and when Liam bumps his head on the archway while he’s pretending to give Niall the rings, Gemma bursts into a fit of giggles that are probably more to do with nerves than amusement and last for a solid five minutes.) It all goes relatively smoothly though, after that, and Louis thinks that those kinds of little interruptions are fairly impossible to prevent. Especially since, on the actual day, there’s going to be two babies (that belong to some of Gemma’s friends), and a loud little Irish toddler in attendance.

Gemma and Niall practice the kiss with wide, wide grins on their faces — even audibly knocking their teeth together on their first try which earns them a little laugh. It lasts a little longer than is probably appropriate when they get it right though, and they sink into each other until a gruff throat clear from Gemma’s dad breaks them up. (Louis had only met Des Styles over a couple of Skype phone calls, but even that is enough to have Louis avoid looking at him as well. He is hyper aware of where Harry is sitting with them both, bracketed between them in the front row of Gemma’s side of the crowd.)

“Alright,” the wedding planner — Suzy, Louis thinks her name is — says after they all have a bit of a laugh. “The priest is going to say some stuff, man and wife, yadda yadda — and then you’ll come over to the table and sign everything you need to. Once it’s all official, the priest’ll give a bit of a speech and then you’ll both walk back down the aisle. Then it’s all done! You’ll be married!”

Niall and Gemma might as well be glowing, they look so fucking ecstatic.

Louis is sitting in the front row of Niall’s side, Liam’s parents on his left and Ruth and Nicola on his right. It makes him feel accepted, like he’s really part of the family and he spends a lot of the rehearsal marvelling at how wonderful and loving Liam’s family has proved to be. Astonishingly though, he doesn’t feel as guilty as he’d expected to at that particular revelation. Instead he feels justified, like all the drama and all his stress has at least been to make sure that Liam’s family don’t worry. He can’t imagine how they’d react, celebrating all this love while trying to support Liam after a break up. It makes Louis feel like maybe this whole fucking mess could have been worth it.

Liam takes his hand again when the rehearsal ends and they’re herded in towards the winery. A big buffet awaits them, when they walk inside, and a couple of round tables with no marked names. “You can sit wherever you want tonight!” Niall tells them all as he hands an empty plate to Gemma. “Have a bit of a mingle.”

Alright, Louis braces himself. This is going to be the hard part.

And he’s certainly not wrong.

He’s barely finished filling his plate — some lamb, sweet potato, cauliflower and beans his choice for the evening — when he and Liam are dragged over to meet Gemma’s wonderful parents.

“You missed seeing Anne this morning,” Karen says, pulling them along. “But Des only just arrived this afternoon, so you’re not too behind.”

Louis hands are too busy holding his dinner plate to grip at Liam’s hand, but that’s probably a good thing. He’s shaking a bit, embarrassingly.

Liam looks determined though, sticking almost awkwardly close to Louis’ side, which is either awful of vaguely comforting. Louis doesn’t have the slightest clue how Harry’s parents are going to react, or what they might think. _At least Harry got away from that when he could_ , they’ll probably say later in relief. _What kind of nasty boy comes to his ex-boyfriend’s sister’s wedding?_

It’s very clear, when Karen pulls them to her intended destination, that this isn’t just an introduction. There are two very obvious, very empty plate sittings at the table she’s dragged them to, opposite where Des and Anne are seated.

Louis can’t even bare to fucking look — but stupidly, awfully, idiotically, a part of him lingers on the fact that Harry is nowhere to be seen.

“There you go, dears,” Karen says. “Have a seat. Anne, Des, this is my son, Liam, and his boyfriend, Louis. They’ve come down from Manchester for the week.”

Time to face the fucking music, Tomlinson.

He swallows thickly, braces himself, and looks up with a smile he hopes desperately doesn’t look like the grimace it feels like.

Anne meets his gaze coolly, coldly, and doesn’t say a fucking word. Neither does Des.

Louis’ heart leaps into his throat and for a second he thinks that he’s definitely going to vomit all over the white tablecloth in front of him. Maybe he should just throw his dinner up in the air, if only for the distraction it would cause, and make a fucking run for it. Maybe that’s all he’s got left.

Liam swoops to the rescue though, his own voice cool and collected. Between the two of them, Liam’s always been the one to maintain a rather level head, but this is on a whole new level. “Hi,” he says, stretching out his hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

He sounds warm and kind, the way Liam always does when he’s meeting new people — but Louis, even in the midst of this heart stopping panic, picks up on something else. There’s an off note to his voice, a sour little undercurrent that weaves through Liam’s words, and Louis realises in the last second that Liam’s a bit pissed off. More than that, he’s angry, and it can’t be for anything other than offence taken on Louis’ behalf.

Liam’s a really good fucking friend, Louis thinks.

Liam sets his plate down next to his mother’s with a certainty to his movements that brooks no argument. He’s still smiling though. “Gemma and Niall have told us so much about you guys,” he continues, as he pulls out his chair. “Louis? You sitting down?”

He adds it as a casual afterthought, but there’s a steely touch to his voice. He doesn’t look away from Harry’s parents.

Louis glances at Anne again, meets her stony gaze, and then looks at Des. He looks a bit different, his gaze more curious than anything, but nothing close to welcoming. But, Louis thinks cautiously, with Liam by his side he can probably make it through this.

He nods, smiles a little weakly, and lowers himself into the chair next to Liam. Liam doesn’t miss a bit, lifting his arm and dropping it around the back of Louis’ chair. He leans back casually, the same way he does when he’s about to school someone on all the reasons Batman is better than Superman. Louis is intimately familiar with that look, like Liam’s all but ready to go off to war. 

It spurns Louis to action. “We were,” he says, fiddling with his cutlery and feeling braver than he has in his entire life. His voice sounds mostly normal, if a little throatier than usual. “We were sorry to miss you this morning.”  

Anne leans forward. She looks almost exactly the same at Louis remembers her, Harry’s smile and Harry’s lips wrapped up in an extremely intelligent, extremely protective woman. She’s the one who’s responsible for Harry’s curls, but it’s impossible to see them tonight with the way she’s twisted her hair up into a knot sat neatly on the top of her head. Terrifyingly, the flat set of her lips has been replaced by a careful, sinister smile.

“I heard you were taken poorly,” she says. “I’m sorry — Louis? Was it?”

Louis gets the very distinct feeling that he’s being played with — not in a way dissimilar from the way a cat might play with a mouse.

He swallows again. “Yup,” he says. “That’s me.”

“It was mostly my fault, actually,” Liam drags her attention away from Louis. Louis remembers, a little belatedly, that there’s a plate of hot food in front of him that he should probably start eating if he wants to ‘act natural’. Everyone else has at least begun their meals. “We had the bachelor party last night and we both got a little too into the party spirit. Needed a bit of a kip to recover.”

Geoff chuckles from where he’s sitting on Karen’s other side, but Karen lets out a little gasp. “Liam James Payne,” she scolds him. “You told me you were fine this morning?”

Usually, this would be the point where Louis would make a joke. Some kind of scandalised comment that Liam had dared to put the hangover just on Louis’ shoulders, or something. But he can’t find it in him, not right now. He pokes at his beans and waits for Liam to reply.

Liam watches him evenly for a second, a fraction of a second, before shrugging. “Easier to pin it all on Louis, wasn’t it?” he jokes.

Louis probably shouldn’t be surprised that Liam knows what he would have said, and he isn’t, not in so many words — but he is touched. He smiles, this one the first to feel like it’s honestly, properly genuine.

Karen swats Liam on the arm and tuts.

Liam grins though, shrugging it off and leaning in to dig into his own dinner. His arm stays steady, draped around the back of Louis’ chair.

“So,” Des says, after a second. It’s a bit of a surprise to hear it, honestly, compared to the grainy five second conversations they’d shared over Harry’s Skype all those years ago. “What’ve you boys been up to this week? Doing much wedding stuff?”

Liam shrugs and swallows a spoonful of potato. “Not really,” he says. “I took Louis to see the sights a few days ago, we played a bit of footy. Mostly we’ve just been mooching off of these guys.” He nudges his mother fondly with his shoulder and shoots her a grin.

Karen’s eyes almost shine as she smiles back — looking as absolutely satisfied as she should that Liam turned out the way he did. “Oh, hush you,” she says. “He’s just being bashful; we’ve been sending them out on all sorts of errands.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Believe it or not, but planning a bachelor party for Niall really wasn’t hard at all, Mum,” he says.

He earns himself a good chuckle at that. Anne, when she laughs, looks like an entirely different person from seconds before. She grins like Harry, the smile taking up all of her face, as she giggles like she’s completely at ease.

Maybe she’s magic, Louis thinks. Maybe she’s seen the future, seen how Louis’ going to suffer, and is laughing at that. Maybe.

Karen rolls her eyes fondly. “Ignore him,” she says, batting in Liam’s direction like he’s a particularly annoying insect. “He’s just being modest. They’ve both actually been a huge help to have around.”

Mimicking his mother to an almost freaky degree, Liam rolls his eyes as well. He doesn’t say anything though, just contents himself by continuing to eat. It’s probably not a good sign that it’s only watching other people eat that Louis remembers to do so himself — but hey, at least he’s eating, right?

“Louis even helped with the flowers!” Karen says, right as Louis’ about to chomp down on an incredibly scrumptious looking slice of lamb. “When all the plans with the florist fell through, didn’t you Louis? You did the wreaths?”

The wreaths, that Harry had so carefully put together only two days ago, were now sitting over to the corner of the room. They were piled up on a table, obviously ready and waiting to be set in their proper positions for the reception the following night.

Louis forces himself to swallow the piece of lamb, before he nods. “Uhm, I did the bouquets,” he corrects her. “It was actually — Harry’s the one who did the wreaths.”

He risks another glance at Anne. She’s not laughing anymore, but she doesn’t look quite like she’s going to murder him either. She watches him evenly and says, “Yes, we heard about that. Harry mentioned on the phone...”

And what else has Harry mentioned? Louis wants to ask. It’s harder now, than he thought it would be, for an entirely new set of reasons. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking, sure, but he also doesn’t know what she knows. Does she know that Harry was the one who wanted to keep their history a secret? Does she know that Louis had tried to kiss Harry less than twenty four hours previously?

“Oh, he’s such a good boy, your Harry,” Karen immediately begins to gush. “We’ve just loved having him around, he’s such a sweetheart.”

The pile of food left of Louis’ plate suddenly feels like a mountain. A mountain he’ll have to climb all the while listening to his fake boyfriend’s mother wax poetic about his ex-boyfriend to his ex-boyfriend’s parents.

Anne looks at Louis levelly. “He is, isn’t he?”

Now’s probably an incredibly good time for him to excuse himself.

“Sorry,” he says, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. “Excuse me — I’ve just got to, uh — loo.”

He finished on that eloquent note and ignores Liam’s puzzled, panicked look as he turns and walks away. For a second, he doesn’t know where he’s going to go, but then he decides the bathroom is as good a place as any to have his breakdown — especially since that’s where he told everyone he was going. They aren’t too hard to find, either, just across the dining room floor and down a small corridor.

He locks the door behind him and rushes straight for the sink. He splashes some water onto his face so haphazardly that some of it lands on his shirt, soaking through the collar and dribbling down his front.

“Shit,” he says, quietly, then a little bit louder. “Shit. _Fuck_.”

Act natural, Liam had said. He’s just got to act natural.

But the thing is, it’s hard — it’s so, so hard to pretend that he’s okay when all he feels is the exact opposite. Here he is, sitting at a table having dinner with Harry’s parents. He’d wanted this, before, this had been the goal. This time a few years ago and all Louis had wanted was for Harry to introduce him to his parents, to give him a sign that their _thing_ , their relationship, was there to stay.

How has his life changed so dramatically, so bizarrely, that now the prospect of finishing a meal with them made him feel ill?

And where the _fuck_ was Harry?

The thought crosses him from a traitorous part of his brain that really shouldn’t have been permitted to dwell on the conundrum. He shouldn’t care where Harry was — or better yet, he should have been _glad_ not to know where Harry was because it meant his list of problems had shrunk by one.

He recoils from that thought almost physically. Harry’s not the problem, a savage voice hisses fiercely inside Louis’ mind. Harry has never been the problem — _you’re_ the problem.

Louis scrubs his hands over his eyes. When he tries and fails to wipe his brain completely clear of thought, he makes a resolute decision.

He needs some air.

.

He sidles out of the building taking Liam’s advice into account for the first time. Act naturally, he reminds himself as he resolutely avoids looking back in the direction of his table. He won’t look at Anne again, refuses to meet her knowing eye. And he doesn’t need to look to know what Liam’s doing — any one of several expressions that mean ‘ _what the hell are you doing!?_ ’

He focuses instead on the large glass doors that open onto the vineyard grounds, and doesn’t look away til he’s made it.

The first breath of fresh air is perfect, clarifying, exactly what he needs.

The second isn’t quite as good. Because in the middle of taking his second breath, he notices a dark silhouette still standing over near the wedding set up and thinks, _fuck_ , _I guess I found him._

Harry’s got his back to him, apparently looking out at something across the vineyard, and Louis should turn around — he should absolutely, certainly, definitely turn around right the fuck now.

He doesn’t.

With every step he takes closer to Harry, a logical part of his brain protests. No, it says. Stop, what the fuck are you doing? What the fucking, fuck is going through your thick, fucking skull?

When he reaches Harry’s side, he stays quiet, not knowing at all what he should say. Harry notices him anyway.

“Hey,” he says — like everything is just fine and okay, ignoring the piles and piles of broken shit that stands between them. “You alright?”

Louis gapes at him. Just — just, honest to God, gapes — because what the fuck else can he do. When any sane or reasonable answer escapes him, he just shakes his head. “What?” he says.

It’s dark outside, but not so dark that Louis can’t make out Harry’s features. He smiles, a small, awful, self-deprecating thing, and looks down at his feet.

“Right, sorry,” he says — and what in the fuck could _Harry_ be fucking apologising for? “Uhm — I wanted to talk to you for a sec, if I can?”

And isn’t it just like this bizarre special boy to ask for permission to ask a question when they’re standing alone out in the night? It’s cold where they are, the air is chilled and Louis doesn’t know if it’s that that sets his hair on edge or the mountains of history that lingers between them. 

Louis clears his throat, tries to clear his head and fails. “Uhm, yeah. Sure. Go for it.”

Like his answer for Harry has ever been anything other than yes.

“I mean,” Harry stumbles a little over his words. “Like, I kind of want to ask you a question. Like, if that’s okay.”

Louis frowns. His thoughts are all tangled up in knots and he has no idea where this is going. “Alright,” he says. 

“Can I?” Harry asks. “I mean, would you mind if I like, uhm, if I talked to Liam later?”

And wow, okay. Louis hadn’t been expecting that.

“What?” he says again.

Harry flushes. “Just for a seconds, like later?” 

It’s kind of astonishing, Louis thinks, how much he’s learnt about his body’s reaction to panic this week. Just when he thinks he’s reached the edge, standing on the precipice with just one inch standing between him and the fall, everything skyrockets and gets so, so much worse.

Why the hell does Harry want to talk to Liam? Does he want to tell him everything, tell him about their history and explain how Louis is clearly still caught up on something in the past? About how Liam deserves someone who can offer far, far more than Liam can?

“You want to talk to Liam?” Louis says hoarsely. All those thoughts don’t logically matter — Liam isn’t his boyfriend, Louis hasn’t actually partaken in infidelity of any kind, but, but Harry doesn’t know that. And doesn’t this just prove that Louis was right in guessing what Harry thinks of him now?

Harry nods. “Yeah.”

“Wh—what for?”

Harry face twists up into something guilty and sad and he runs a hand through his curly hair. For a second he’s quiet, then he shrugs. “I wanted to — to tell him my side, I guess. I don’t know.”

_I was very clear with him,_ Harry probably wants to say _. I didn’t want this at all, our relationship is over, but I couldn’t stop him._

Louis tries very valiantly not to cry — but it’s an uphill battle. He’s cried so much already today, his tear ducts are practically primed and ready to go. “Your side?”

Harry nods, and God, he looks a little bit like he’s going to cry as well. Louis _did that_ to him. “I just want to explain, Louis,” he says.

Fuck, if Louis still isn’t gone for the way Harry says his name.

“Harry,” Louis says slowly.

Harry shakes his head though, taking a physical step backward and interrupting. “Don’t Louis — just, _don’t_.”

“Don’t what?” Louis asks desperately.

“You’ve obviously already told him!” Harry says suddenly, abruptly, his voice loud now. And wet, like the tears that are threatening to spill onto Louis’ cheeks are doing the same exact dance behind Harry’s eyelids. What does Harry have to cry about—? It doesn’t make any — “I saw the way he was looking at me, he knows, and he thinks that I’m — I don’t want him to think about me that way, alright, I wasn’t going to—” he cuts himself off to press a large palm to his forward and take a deep, calming breath. “I wouldn’t have done anything, okay? I _wouldn’t_.”

The hand that’s kept a strong grip around Louis’ lungs takes this opportunity to squeeze, and Louis feels all the fight rush out of him. Right, he thinks. Of course. Of course, Harry wouldn’t have done anything. Louis already knew that, already knew what Harry was going to — but fuck, hearing it is like someone’s reached down his throat just to punch right at his insides.

“Harry,” Louis says, trying very, very hard to make sure Harry can’t tell Louis’ walls are crumbling, flaking like every resolution Louis had to stay strong for this encounter. “Harry, he knows. He knows you—”

He knows you wouldn’t have, he would have said had Harry had given him the chance, he knows it was all _me._

But instead, Harry interrupts once again.

“It’s just — it’s hard, okay?” The words rush out of him all at once and suddenly it’s like he can’t stop. Louis falls silent, if only because this is more than he’s heard this new, unfamiliar (but still, oh, so familiar) version of Harry say at once. “It’s hard to be here and see all of this and know how happy Gems is and for it not to be — I don’t know how to handle it, and I didn’t think I’d have to, I wasn’t ready, I thought — ”

His gaze is darting around like a wild thing. He’s got his hand in his hair, like his fingers have gotten caught halfway through smoothing out the knots and he’s decided not to fight it. He steps around, like a cornered deer with nowhere left to go, and Louis suddenly has absolutely no idea what’s going on, because Harry’s words, Harry’s actions — they all seem bizarrely like —

“ — I thought it would be me and you, you know?” Harry says.

Everything rackets to a shuddering stop in Louis’ head and Louis goes very, very still. In fact, fuck still, Louis’ not even breathing, because holy shit — holy shit, _what?_

“I mean, it’s where we were heading, right? If I hadn’t — if you hadn’t — I just mean, I always thought that you and I would be first, to do all this, and now we’re not and you’re with Liam and I’m alone and I just — I didn’t have any time to process anything, this all just kind of happened. And I’m sorry I tried to kiss you, I really am, but I just need Liam to know it wasn’t — it wasn’t malicious, or anything. I just — I really, really thought that you and I were, were for keeps or whatever, and I’m — I’m just sorry.”

Louis can’t hear anything. Only he can. Everything is muted, the chill in the air, the sounds of dinner behind them, the thud of Louis’ heartbeat — but Harry’s words are ringing through his head like they’re on loudspeaker. Louis tries desperately to make sense of them, to figure out whatever the fuck it is that’s stopping him from doing anything more than fucking blinking. It’s a miracle he’s even still standing, that his blood his still pumping, that his limbs are still working, because in that moment Louis forgets every single thing he’s ever learnt except for _I thought you and I were for keeps._

After a moment, after a thousand moments, Louis thinks one clarifying thought.

Fuck it. Just, fuck it.

If there’s any chance that Harry — that Harry still — that he and Harry still have a chance, then fucking, fuck it. Liam will forgive him.

And he’s ready, he’s formulating the sentence in his head, opening his mouth and ready to go — _it’s not real, me and Liam, it’s all a lie —_ when a stern and steadfast voice sounds from behind Louis’ shoulder.

“I think that’s enough,” Anne says.

Louis wouldn’t give a shit, would spill his secrets in front of her in a heartbeat, if it weren’t for Karen. Karen who’s walking down the hill with Liam at her heels, heading in their direction. Louis can’t make his brain work, can’t get his thoughts straight — and he wants to tell Harry, he _desperately_ wants to tell Harry everything, but he can’t, not in front of Liam’s mum, not when Liam needs him.

Harry’s still staring at Louis, breathing so heavily his shoulders are shaking slightly, when Anne walks to his side. “It’s time to come inside,” she says.

“No,” Louis says, hastily, struggling to make his mind cooperate for one _fucking_ second. “No, hang on, wait.”

“Is everything okay?” Karen says as she and Liam step closer.

No one looks at them. Louis keeps his eyes trained firmly on Harry, thinking _tell him, tell him, tell him_. This is Harry, after all. It would — it would fuck everything up, but, but this is _Harry._ “No,” he says. “No, you don’t understand.”

He’s taken off guard when Anne looks at him. Where he’d been expecting to see the fire of a thousand suns is instead a small, half-smile. Is a soft, sad little thing, and filled to the brim with the kind of concern Louis’ only ever seen from his own mother.

“I said that’s enough, Louis,” she says quietly.

Her gaze lingers for a beat before she looks away, soothing her thumb over the round curve of Harry’s shoulder. She doesn’t look back when she begins to guide Harry back up towards the winery and, left with only Karen and Liam and his frantic thoughts for company, Louis can do nothing more than watch them go.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the overwhelming response to this fic is what helps me find the motivation to write a chapter every week. I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and your feedback, so please, please, please keep them coming. You guys are the best!! xx


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this week was incredibly tough for me. Despite having a lot more time to write, I found it incredibly difficult to get myself going and write this chapter. I got a message that, however well intentioned the anon claimed to be, essentially kicked me in the teeth and sent my motivation flying out the window. I've gotten past most of the message - and honestly, the only thing you can do if you don't like the way I've written Harry and Louis' relationship in this fic is stop reading - but one part really pissed me off. 
> 
> I work five days a week, I'm currently drafting my application for the Masters course I hope to complete next year and my housemate just got dumped by her boyfriend. I have a life, and things that take up my time. For someone to have the audacity to complain about the length of my chapters and say that five thousand words a week isn't good enough, just shows to me a complete lack of respect for me and the way that the real world functions. So to that person, who wasn't even brave enough to send their 'constructive criticism' off anon, I would like to say grow up and stop behaving like the world, or I, owe you shit. 
> 
> That being said, the onslaught of positive messages I received on Tumblr after replying to this person, were wonderful, positive and really the only thing that made me want to keep writing. You guys are the ones I'm writing for because you're the absolute best, and I love you all.

If Louis is tense for the rest of the evening then he’s certainly not the only one.

He floats through the rest of the dinner in his own little bubble, too caught up in his own head to pay much attention to anything going on around him, but even he can see the tight lines that pull at the corner of Liam’s smile and the frustrated rhythm he’s tapping out with his knee. Anne lingers at Harry’s side, her eyes bright and her smile kind and sincere, as she’s introduced to all the other essential people that she’s missed out on meeting during the week.

Harry is maintaining an incredibly effective fake smile, Louis notices next. That is to say, he might have looked happy if Louis wasn’t looking so hard. But now that he does, Louis can see the lines that linger under Harry’s eyes, the tiredness that hinders even his stance.

It sends Louis’ mind running wild.

Is Louis the one who caused it? He asks himself. Has Harry been lying awake and lingering on their every interaction the same way Louis has; has it brought him the same amount of constant stress? And if — if he is, if he _has_ , then does Louis have the ability to make it better?

What will he do, Louis wonders, when he finds out the truth?

He searches for every opportunity to pull Harry aside in the following few hours they spend together — but he has no luck. Every time Harry so much as heads to the bathroom, he’s accompanied by his mother or father. And Louis’ going nowhere fast, not with the way Liam’s keeping an ironclad grip on Louis’ hand.

When the rehearsal finishes, despite Louis’ best hopes, Harry climbs into the back of Niall’s car without the answers that Louis can give him. Anne follows him — Gemma waiting to squish in behind her and Niall and Des driving and riding shotgun, respectively — and sends him another one of her sad looks before she vanishes inside. If anything, it only makes Louis more confused, because what the hell is she doing?

He’d understand if she was angry, the same way he’d understood when Gemma had been angry back when this whole mess was just beginning. But he’s certainly not equipped to deal with sad smiles and knowing eyes — not when he is more in the dark than she is.

Unfortunately, he isn’t given much time to linger on this.

He gets back into Liam’s car — this time riding in the front with Liam while Karen and Geoff share the back — and definitely doesn’t miss the stern look Liam shoots him. It’s the same kind of look Liam gives him if he messes something up at the school, the _take no shit_ look that Liam’s had to bring out several times over the course of their friendship.

Whatever conversation Liam wants to have, it clearly can’t be had within the confines of his car though, or in the company of his parents. Instead, when they arrive home, he keeps a tight grip around Louis’ wrist and keeps him outside.

It’s cool, the hairs on Louis’ arm standing to attention in the chilly, evening breeze, but he doesn’t complain. The night air is the only thing that’s come remotely close to clearing Louis’ head, and God knows he needs as much help as he can get.

“Don’t stay up too late boys,” Karen warns them when she sees them lingering on the front porch. “Big day tomorrow!”

Liam smiles, a thin little thing, spread too tightly across his lips. “We won’t,” he says. “We’re just going to have a quick little walk.”

It sounds casual, relaxed, but Louis had seen the way that Liam had gripped the steering wheel while they were driving — digging his nails in like it had caused him some kind of personal offence, never once taking his gaze off the road ahead of them. He does the same thing now, staring resolutely at the ground as he leads Louis further down the road.

Louis glances quickly at Niall’s house to see that the lights are on inside and Harry’s car and several others are parked out front. For that exact reason, they begin to walk in the other direction.

“Okay,” Liam says when they’ve made it halfway down the street. The look he gives Louis isn’t angry, but it is unyielding. “Explain.”

Louis smiles a little shakily. There’s a little more to it than that, he thinks. How is he supposed to condense everything that Harry had said, translate it for Liam when Louis can barely make sense of it himself?

“Explain what?”

Liam makes a frustrated noise. “Oh, I don’t know, Louis,” he says sourly. “Maybe start with what the hell happened tonight?”

But the thing is — the _thing is_ — even Louis’ doesn’t really know what happened tonight. It’s like everything he’s thought for the last three years has been turned on its head, called into question, taking with it every decision Louis’ made since then. Harry had, he’d thought that they were going to get married; he’d thought that they’d be standing where Niall and Gemma were; he’d thought that _they were for keeps_. But what the fuck did that mean, with all their history? Did it mean that Harry had never wanted to go? Or that he’d had plans for when he came back? Or even, God forbid, that maybe he’d hoped Louis would come with him?

And if — holy shit, holy shit, holy shit — if it did, then what the fuck did that mean for Louis? Had he been responsible for their break up, for severing them and leaving them out of contact for three whole years? Had he been so blind and so selfish that he’d actually been the one to fuck everything up?

All this and a thousand other things fly through his mind while he tries to figure out how the fuck he’s going to explain to Liam, how he’s going to try and help Liam to understand. He can’t even think about the other things — the very quiet questions that are lingering behind the chaos — the ones that ask _what does this mean for them now?_

Louis rubs furiously at his eyes, trying to clear his head, his thoughts, and shrugs again. He takes a couple of steps backwards, distancing himself from Liam, from his questions, and tries to figure out how the fuck he’s supposed to reply.

“I don’t—” he tries, even while his eyes are still scrunched closed. “Liam, I don’t know how—”

Liam takes a deep breath.

“How about I ask questions then?” he says, interrupting Louis’ awkward stuttering. He doesn’t pause or wait for Louis to agree. “What was that outside, with Harry? What were you talking about?”

Louis flounders because that’s what he is. A useless flounderer who can’t get his fucking thoughts straight.

Liam must have some kind of direct line into Louis’ head — or at least the ability to read whatever emotion passes over Louis’ face — because he softens a little. The anger in his face, the tense set of his shoulders and the harshness of his voice all draw back, just a little.

“I know this is hard for you,” he says quietly. “But I need to understand — you get that right?”

Louis nods, rubs furiously at his stinging, tired eyes before stretching his palm over his forehead. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“He looked like he was about to fucking cry, Louis,” Liam says — and his voice might be quiet now, but his words do the absolute opposite of making anything better. “And don’t even get me started on his mum, cause she just looked like she wanted to hit you half the night and hug you for the rest of it.”

Louis isn’t making this difficult on purpose. He really, really isn’t. He just doesn’t know what to fucking say, because he barely has any idea what’s actually going on. And Liam’s earnest, brown eyes aren’t doing anything at all to help him clear his head.

“You need to talk to me,” Liam implores.

Louis takes another step backwards, feels his neck sinking into his shoulders as he shrinks in on himself, and lets his arms flail about wildly in the air. Whether it’s about anger or frustration or even some bizarre attempt at escaping this conversation, even Louis’ not certain.

“What do you want me to say, Liam?” he asks, almost shrilly. “Of course Anne doesn’t like me — she watched me stomp all over her son’s heart and now I’m here, with _you,_ at her daughter’s wedding.”

Liam’s eyes almost bug out of his skull and he points an accusatory finger right in Louis’ face.

“See?” he says, and no, Louis definitely does _not_ see. “See!? This is what I’m talking about! What do you mean you stomped all over Harry’s heart?”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean what do _I_ mean?” he demands. “Liam, that doesn’t even make any fucking sens—”

“—I thought Harry broke up with you!”

The fight is washed out of Louis in a second. He feels it rush out of him, to be replaced by an awkward sense of confusion and embarrassment. He flushes, looks down at his toes and accepts the fact that he’s going to have to relive memories that he’s spent three years trying to forget.

“I — he did!” he tries to explain awkwardly. “Well, kind of.”

Liam’s not having any of it. “Kind of?” he echoes incredulously, his voice far, far too loud for this quaint little small town street. “What does that even mean ‘kind of’?”

Louis runs a hand through his own hair, doesn’t pause when his fingers catch on the knots and ignores the pain when he scrapes the bump on the back of his head.

“It was mutual, okay?!” The words tumble out of him in a shrill and breathy mess.

“Mutual,” Liam says flatly.

Louis shrugs, his eyes darting chaotically wherever Liam isn’t. “I don’t know,” he says. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess.”

“Stop — stop doing _that_. Stop repeating what I’m saying. Yes, okay? It was mutual.”

He and Liam are standing right in the middle of the street now, metres away from each other. Louis can’t stay still, doesn’t even have it in him to try, probably looks like a cornered fucking animal.

“I don’t believe you,” Liam says then.

“What?”

Liam shrugs. “I don’t believe you.” And he must be able to tell that Louis is seconds away from snarling ‘ _what the fucking fuck’_ right up in Liam’s face because he keeps talking and doesn’t give Louis the leeway. “You — the way you’ve been this week, that doesn’t happen from something mutual.”

Louis huffs out an incredulous laugh, because it’s the only thing he can fucking do. Liam’s right, about this he’s right, because this isn’t how responsible adults are supposed to act after a normal break up. Louis had known that from day one, but it’s something else entirely to have Liam call him out on it.

And maybe — maybe he’s lying a bit, or whatever, but he’s not — the break up _was_ mutual, they’d decided together and maybe it had squashed all of Louis’ hopes and dreams into the dirt but it was something that they decided together. To act like it was all Harry’s fault would be selfish of him, would take away the blame that sat squarely at Louis’ feet. 

Liam’s voice goes quiet again, the manipulative fucker, and he steps closer to Louis. “I want to help you with this, Lou,” he says quietly. “But I can’t do that if you don’t tell me the whole story.”

Louis shakes his head, feeling completely and totally lost. “I don’t _know,_ Liam. We just. He was leaving and I wasn’t and I — we just stopped, okay?”

Stopped dating, stopped talking, stopped everything.

Liam soothes a hand over Louis’ shoulder, rubbing comfortingly with a small, encouraging smile. “I know that,” he says. “Tell me why.”

So Louis does.

.

Louis got the job offer straight out of Uni.

Before his graduation ceremony had even taken place, only a couple of weeks after he’d had his final class, he’d gotten the letter in the mail. He’d been applying for the last six months, putting out feelers in the hopes of getting an idea of where he might get a job in the future, and hadn’t even had the audacity to hope that one of them would pay off so soon. But his good grades, and a single letter of recommendation from one of his favourite Uni professors, had gone a lot further than he’d expected.

The Avery Academy in Manchester wanted him, in three months time, to take over for their current English teacher. They were impressed with his resume, his high scores and the fairly consistent positive reviews from the few of his teachers they’d called. They were taking a chance on him, that much was absolutely certain, but they thought that having someone young would hopefully reignite the children’s interest in their English units and refresh the atmosphere in the English classrooms.

It was a fucking dream come true, for Louis. A miracle, a once in a lifetime chance that Louis would be absolutely ridiculous to pass up. And they’d — he and Harry, _together_ — had been fucking ecstatic about it.

They’d gone to the pub with their friends to celebrate. After downing a couple of pints, Harry had blown him in the bathroom and promised, his mouth still tasting slightly tangy, that Louis would be the best teacher in all the land.

Harry still had six months left of Uni — Louis’ gap year and the winter term of classes Harry had taken had brought their graduation dates considerably closer together — but three months apart wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. They’d power through it, like they had with everything else, and come out stronger on the other side. They didn’t even have to talk about it.

Only, Louis found out later, they probably should have.

Because in the lead up to Louis’ departure, Harry had gotten quiet. His smiles became more subdued, his laughter a little less silly and the touches between them more fleeting.

“I think I want to go travelling,” he’d said one night, while Louis had been packing his things.

Louis had smiled, grinned even, and hadn’t thought at all that this was the beginning of their end. “Yeah?” he’d said. “Where to?”

It made sense, in his head. He’d go to Manchester, get settled and start working, and Harry would travel for a few months — get the lay of the land and then come back. Harry had always talked about travelling, always wanted to see the world, and Louis certainly wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

Until,

“There’s this tour I could do,” Harry had said excitedly. “I was talking to some of Ben’s friends—” Louis had scrunched up his nose a little at that, because Ben’s friends certainly weren’t _Louis’_ friends, “—and they said that if we leave in June we could be in Germany for Oktoberfest and then hopefully be in the Alps over Christmas.”

He’d said a little bit more than that and Louis could remember it if he tried, but that’s the _thing_. He doesn’t like to remember, because that’s where it had all hit home for Louis. Harry wasn’t thinking something temporary, he wasn’t thinking a quick little holiday. He was thinking long term — _very_ long term, apparently — because they were still in _April_ and Christmas was a very, very long time away.

“Christmas?” Louis has said, and he remembers the weak shake of his own voice with and awful, intense kind of clarity.

Harry hadn’t even noticed — something which Louis now remembers with relief. “Yeah,” he’d said excitedly. “Then we’d do some backpacking once the tour finishes and maybe be in Denmark for Easter — then who knows, we could go anywhere.”

“We?” Louis had asked.

“Me and Ben,” Harry had elaborated. “He knows a few other people who might want to come as well.”  

The sinking feeling in Louis’ stomach had almost prompted him to flee the room. Harry had kept talking; blabbered on about all the places he was hoping to see and hadn’t even noticed the way that Louis had quietened.

He hadn’t known what to think, back in the very early days. Did Harry want to carry on long distance? He’d wondered, at one point. Or did he want to be rid of him altogether?

He’d stayed trapped in his own head for a long while leading up to his departure, but had known that couldn’t last forever.

So, barely a week before his things were moved to Manchester, he’d decided to toughen up and ask the hard questions.

Louis can’t remember what they’d said exactly. He’d spent so much time in the interim trying desperately to forget it all that he can’t remember the precise string of thoughts that had flown through his head, or words that had left his mouth — but he remembers how it had ended.

Harry had given back his key, Louis had packed his things off to Manchester and they’d said their goodbyes on a bizarrely bright day at the airport. 

“Good luck with everything, Lou,” Harry had said. His fingers had dug into the flesh on Louis’ shoulders, and his eyes were red and blotchy. They’d both been crying, pretty much since they’d reached the gate.

Louis had pulled him into a tight, desperate hug. “Travel safe,” he’d said.

Harry wasn’t the one travelling that day — Louis’ flight to Manchester would last roughly two hours — but he was the one who was going off to see the world only two months later. Louis’ was just moving towns, changing jobs. It wasn’t nearly as important.

“You too,” Harry had said, despite all that. “I love you.”

Louis had smiled, as best he could, and kissed him. It was a wet, tearful and snotty embrace, but Louis had savoured every second of it. “I love you too,” he’d said when they’d parted.

Harry had hugged him one last time, before pulling away.

“I’m going to go,” he’d said, his voice hoarse.

“Wh — what?”

Harry had smiled grimly. It was an ugly thing, and Louis can remember wanting to drag the expression from his face by any means necessary. “Don’t think I’ll be able to watch you get on that plane,” he’d said. “But I’ll — I’ll see you, okay?”

He wouldn’t. They both knew that perfectly well. They were going in different directions, heading different places, to different sides of the world.

“Okay,” Louis had said anyway.

And that had been that.

Harry had walked away and Louis had let him.

.

Liam waits for a beat, then another, before the furrow appears on his brow. When it becomes clear that Louis isn’t going to say anything more, it grows into a fully fledged frown.

“Wait,” he says. “That’s it?”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah. I dunno. Yeah.”

Liam looks completely lost. The look on his face is like he can’t even fathom what Louis’ just told him, which sucks because for the first time it’s the God’s honest truth. When his face finally scrunches up, it seems like it’s more from complete bewilderment than anything else.

“What the _fuck_ , Louis?”

Louis feels his hackles rise, shrinks back into himself just a little bit and scowls. “I don’t know, okay?” he says. “That’s just the way it happened!”

“That’s just the way you let it happen, you mean!” As fast and Liam gets loud, he quietens down again. “I don’t understand, Louis. Things don’t just happen like that—”

“They do though!” Louis protests immediately. “They do. Sometimes things just end and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Liam looks incredibly sad then and Louis can’t bear to look at it so he doesn’t, he just keeps on talking. “But it doesn’t matter now anyway, because we’ve — we’ve moved _on_ , so—”

He knows it’s a lie before he even thinks it, eons before he lets the words spill across his lips, so really it’s no wonder that Liam picks up on it.

“Bullshit,” Liam says abruptly. “I see the way you look at him.”

His voice is fierce, stern in the kind of soft way that only Liam has ever managed to master, and it cuts Louis’ half formed response off at the pass. For the first time since getting out of the car, the air between them is completely silent.

For a jarring moment, Louis wonders what it must be like for Liam. What must he have thought, watching him and Harry stand out in the grass only a few hours earlier? When they’d met, it had taken Liam just a few weeks to learn how to read every inch of Louis’ face — after all the tentative wariness had been dispelled, that is. Louis was practically an open book where Liam was concerned. Did he see how difficult it was for Louis to keep his head screwed on straight; did he feel concern or worry? Or did he maybe feel defensive, or protective, the way Louis had when everything had happened with between Liam and Sean?

Liam watches him carefully.

Louis swallows. “I don’t know how to fix it, Li.”

There’s a little waver in his voice that probably speaks to exactly how torn he feels on the inside, and his sentence breaks off and splinters in the cool night air.

Liam smiles, a small, daring little thing. “Just tell him, Lou.”

But it’s just not that fucking easy, is it?

“How can I just tell him?” Louis demands. “We’re dating — everyone here thinks I’m your boyfriend, your _mum_ thinks I’m your boyfriend. What am I supposed to do, just tell everyone I’ve been lying?”

“ _We’ve_ been lying,” Liam corrects him. “The two of us.”  

Louis lets out a derisive little sound, panic swelling heavily in his gut. “Oh, _good_ ,” he says sarcastically. “Right. So they can blame me for dragging you down with me, is that right?”

He can just imagine the looks on their faces. He’s seen how devoted Karen is to her son, how proud Geoff is. The boy they’ve raised is so kind and so good and probably wouldn’t have even thought about lying to them if Louis hadn’t brought it up. And that doesn’t even take into account the way that they’d react to Liam. They’d grill him for lying and then grill him for all the grizzly details about his breakup.

“Hold on,” Liam says. “I don’t think you’re being fair...”

Louis shakes his head, interrupts. “There’s a _reason_ we decided to do this!” he reminds Liam pointedly. “What? I’m supposed to just throw you under the bus now?”

“They’re my _parents,_ Lou. They’ll understand.”  

And even then, even if they do, how the fuck is Louis supposed to explain to Harry? How is he supposed to look Anne or Gemma or _Harry_ in the eye after explaining that everything he’s put them through over the past week was a complete lie?

“I’m stuck,” Louis concludes. He makes sure that his voice is incredibly clear, indisputable, and he shoots Liam a look that brooks no quarry. “I’ve made my bed, and now I’m going to lie in it.”

Liam sighs. “Lou...”

Louis shakes his head though, looking away from Liam because he certainly doesn’t need to see whatever new kind of pity is lingering behind his eyes. “And now I’m going to go to my real bed,” he announces. “Because your mum’s probably worried, and the wedding’s tomorrow, and I need all the energy I can get.”

He walks away before Liam can say anything else, pointedly ignoring the way his best friend gapes after him.

.

Louis doesn’t have time to think about much of anything when they wake up the next morning. He’s jolted awake by a frantic rapping on the door and Karen’s shrill voice floating through the wood. She doesn’t open the door, probably because she doesn’t want to see her son and Louis cuddling up in Liam’s single bed, which is a relief because in reality Liam’s still snoring away on the floor. Louis tosses a pillow at him when he gets out of bed, then snags the shower before Liam can figure out what’s happening.

He gives himself a quick pep talk in the shower, but doesn’t have much time to linger on making himself feel better. They’ve slept in half an hour longer than they should have, according to Karen, so Louis’ only just finished washing his hair when Liam’s knocking on the door asking him to hurry up.

Louis gets dressed while Liam showers, before rushing downstairs to Karen’s aid. He’s not sure what she’s so frantic about — most of the preparations had been finished the day before — but he’s happy to help when she needs him. “I’m gonna need you to be on Liam duty, love,” she says to him as she fusses around the living room.

Louis doesn’t really understand what that means until Liam stomps down the stairs with just his towel wrapped around his waist.

“For God’s sake, Liam,” Karen sighs, before he can say anything. “We have guests.”

Liam shrugs and makes a beeline for the kitchen. “S’only Louis,” he says.

Karen lets out a displeased little hum, like she understands what her sons saying but still disapproves. Louis flushes and looks very pointedly at his toes.

“Dad back with the suits yet?” Liam asks.

Karen shakes her head. “Not yet, but he shouldn’t be too long.”

Geoff had left about half an hour earlier to go to the tailors and pick up Liam’s, Niall’s and Greg’s suits. The tailor, correcting all the mistakes that had been made, had been working late into the night before.

“I tell you,” Karen continued muttering. “If there’s even a stitch out of place when they get here, I’m gonna skin that man alive.”

If only for the tailor’s sake, Louis crosses his fingers and hopes for the best.

The fuss is worth it though, when the suits arrive ten minutes later and fit like a fucking glove. Liam looks incredibly smart in the tailored suit, and significantly less stressed when he’s dressed. His mother looks less stressed as well, now that he’s not wandering around her kitchen in his birthday suit.

They head across to Niall’s house with the two other suits while Karen and Geoff linger to get themselves ready. Maura yanks them into the house and snatches the suits away before any pleasantries can be exchanged.

Niall, when they see him, looks incredibly nervous, incredibly pale, and incredibly, incredibly excited.

“Lads!” he greets them, his voice enthusiastic if a little shaky. “Morning! Good day, isn’t it?”

He’s standing in his boxers, his hair a fairly wild blonde mop on top of his head. When his mother shoves his suit into his hands, he blinks at it for a few seconds like he has no idea what he’s just been given.  

“Mate,” Liam says carefully. “Get dressed.”

Niall stares at the suit for a second longer before jumping to attention. “Right. Course. Yes.”

Then he vanishes down the hall, taking the suit with him. Louis hopes desperately that he remembers how to put on a pair of trousers.

Greg comes in looking far more put together, and takes his own suit from Liam. “He’s been like this since about five this morning,” he says, looking fondly after his little brother. “Practically jumping off the walls.”

Which is actually adorable, Louis thinks. It’s the way he’d want any of his sister’s potential suitors to behave, on their respective wedding days.

“Last time I saw him like this was when Derby got into the finals,” Liam muses fondly.

Greg nods, chuckling, only to be interrupted by a particularly suspicious sounding thump from down the hall. They all hesitate for a moment, staring at each other, before Liam jumps into action.

“I’m just gonna go check on him—” he says, before he too vanishes out the door.

All in all, Louis has absolutely no time to think about Harry. He doesn’t even think to ask where Harry is. He’s been sleeping at Niall’s house, after all, so it seems only natural to assume that he’d be getting ready with them and confusing that he’s completely absent. It’s only when Greg mentions it — “I bet Gemma’s just as bad, to be honest. Harry said he’d text us and keep us updated, but we haven’t heard a thing from him. It’s probably hectic over there,” — that Louis learns Harry had kipped at the same hotel as his parents and Gemma the night before.

“Yeah,” Greg explains. “Gemma said she wanted him to be with her, so it was easier for him to stay over there. It’s only a three minute walk from the winery, anyway.”

Which makes sense; if it were Louis, he’d probably want to be close to his family as well. And it certainly makes Louis’ life a little bit easier, not having to face anything before he absolutely has to.

Unfortunately, now that he’s started thinking about Harry, it suddenly becomes incredibly difficult to stop.

_I thought you and I were for keeps._

Guilt and dread and nerves have been stirring an awful cocktail in Louis’ stomach since the night before. This is the first time when a touch of hope appears in the mix.

He stifles it immediately, because there’s no way he can allow his thoughts to wander down that path.

When Niall and Liam reappear, they both look incredibly dapper in their matching suits. Niall’s hair has been tamed as much as it can, and some of the colour has returned to his cheeks. He looks a little flushed, pleased and excited and so completely happy that Louis feels himself calm down once more.

Greg heads off to change himself, and probably check in on how Denise and Theo are progressing. (Theo is going to be wearing his own little suit which, despite being incredibly cute, is probably going to be a lot of hard work for his parents.) Louis follows Liam and Niall back downstairs to see how Niall’s parents are fairing. Maura has a lovely colourful dress on that matches Bobby’s navy suit, and a bright, teary smile on her face. Karen and Geoff have arrived as well, looking impeccably well put together, and that’s when the photography portion of the day begins.

Louis lingers respectively to the side for a lot of the photos, allowing the parents to get their fill of pictures of the grinning groom and his groomsmen. But Liam doesn’t allow that for long, and before he knows it, he’s standing right in the middle of the huge group picture — waiting for the little flashing timer to go off where the camera is propped precariously up on the bookshelf.

Bobby rushes to check it, just as soon as the flash has gone off.

“This is great,” he says, peering down the viewfinder. “One big happy family!”

Maura bursts into happy tears.

(This, of course, sets their departure back by a few minutes while Karen rushes to ensure that none of Maura’s make up gets ruined — but they’re remarkably efficient about it. In no time at all, they’re back at the front door and ready to go.)

“Alright!” Niall announces. “Let’s get me hitched!”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I've said at the end of previous chapters, your comments are what keep me going. I honestly don't think I would have posted this chapter if it wasn't for the constant support and love you have for this fic. So yeah, thank you a thousand times and a thousand times again.
> 
> PS. Sorry for ranting. xx


	10. TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the last few, but I suspect that the content within might make up for it. 
> 
> Alternatively, it might make you hate me with the fire of a thousand suns - but I guess you'll have to read it to find out :P

The wedding, as expected, goes off without a hitch.

That is to say, without a hitch that matters. The early afternoon breeze wreaks havoc with several of the ladies’ skirts, Gemma’s veil is a bit wonky and Niall’s gets a smudge of his mother’s make up all over his collar. There’s a couple of moments where Niall gets the words wrong, and a couple of moments where Gemma gets the words wrong but ultimately, there’s only a specific few words that really matter — and those they get totally, wholeheartedly correct.

The ceremony itself is simple, short and incredibly sweet. Gemma glows, her happiness shining from every pore and cries in only the prettiest ways that girls can cry. In the audience, Anne, Karen and Bobby are much less poised. Bobby’s face goes an endearing, blotchy red and his manly sniffles are so loud that they interrupt the priest once or twice. Maura, who had completely recovered from her little moment that morning and hadn’t shed a tear since, rubs his back comfortingly and looks as fond and in love as Niall and Gemma do under the archway.

The decorations are spectacular. All the messy elements that had been haphazard and half complete the day before have clearly come together to form exactly the picture that Gemma and Niall have planned. Ribbons strung between the seats add a splash of colour to the white, plastic chairs and a white sheet of fabric has been laid out as a makeshift aisle between the two family sides. The same ribbon has been woven through the archway centrepiece, complemented by absolutely lovely little white flowers that have been scattered throughout.  

Theo steals the show, of course, his little bowtie and effortlessly precise petal throwing skills swaying everyone in the audience to his side. Those who somehow resist the urge to coo as he led Gemma down the aisle don’t last long though — his little snores start up around twenty minutes in and it’s such a sweet and hilarious distraction that it must melt even the iciest of hearts.

It’s so adorable, in fact, that he even manages to snag Niall and Gemma’s attention for a few seconds. They grin fondly over at him — where he’s snoozing and drooling on his dad’s shoulder — but it doesn’t last long. Today, understandably, they only have eyes for each other.

And if Gemma is glowing, then Niall is practically luminescent when the priest asks them to exchange vows. When the priest has smiled and said the magic words, they snog for far too long to be considered appropriate. No one gives a damn.

As they head over to the table — now covered with a floaty white table cloth and about a dozen different types of ribbon and flowers — Liam takes the opportunity to smile down at Louis. He’s been standing up for most of the ceremony, diligently at Niall’s side, but it seems he doesn’t mind breaking decorum for just one moment. He rests his hand on Louis’ shoulder and squeezes.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” he says — and he’s able to, because everyone else is craning their heads to see the signing of the marriage papers and probably doing their best to hold back their own tears. “Seriously, I haven’t said it enough. Thank you.”

It’s good for Louis to hear — not because he’s been waiting for a thanks or anything, but because the grateful look in Liam’s eye almost makes the turmoil this past week completely worth it. Being in a relationship, no matter how fake that relationship might actually be, has allowed Liam to enjoy this week without any added pressure.

Louis shrugs and digs his toes a little into the grass. He’s going to get mud on the bottom of his shoes, he thinks errantly. But what the hell? He’s certainly not going to be the only one. “S’what I’m here for, mate,” he says.

Liam looks at Louis pointedly and lets out a very tired sigh. “You’re here for a lot more than that,” Liam says — and it’s probably a little vaguer than he intended, doesn’t _actually_ make that much sense to Louis, but he figures he understands the sentiment.

So he smiles. “Yeah, well,” he says a little awkwardly. “You’re welcome.” 

A few seconds later, Liam is called over to be a second witness to the signatures, bringing an abrupt end to their conversation. Louis takes the opportunity, when everyone else is looking their way, to look the other. Harry — who he’d obviously been doing his best to ignore thus far — looking absolutely fucking edible in his suit. It’s cut slim on his waist and his hips and even slimmer through his legs — which somehow balances how huge his shoulders look. He’s wearing another one of his ridiculous blouses underneath the suit jacket though, buttons undone far too low to be decent even though no one has so much as batted an eye. There’s a hat to complete the outfit as well. Louis thinks he might have seen a feather.

After a few minutes of signing various documents, the priest calls Niall and Gemma back to their archway so that they can close the ceremony. He speaks for a few moments about true love and the kind of dedication and emotion it takes to even consider making a commitment like this to another person. Louis listens for a few seconds, then pointedly stops listening to the rest.

It isn’t until Niall and Gemma make their way back down the aisle, this time hand in hand with matching gold jewellery adorning their fingers, that the guests are told they can finally relax — or, that is to say, relax more than they have been already. To say that it was a rigid or stern ceremony would be an utter lie at this point. The wedding planner stands and whispers something to the priest who then calls them to attention once more, simply to tell them that the reception hall is ready and that all the guests are welcome to follow the Bride and Groom up towards the winery.

The reception is where the real battle will begin, Louis knows. In the safety of the wedding ceremony, there had been designated seats and the expectation not to talk too much. Now, while they eat and dance and drink, the expectation is to mingle.

Which is decidedly _not good_ for Louis. Not while he has absolutely no idea what’s going on in both his head, and in the real world.

Just stay calm, Louis repeats to himself as they begin their way up the hill. Stay calm and stay out trouble.

.

Louis has managed to stick to his mantra for about two and a half hours when Gemma approaches them.

They’ve done the toasts and all the speeches and even finished the first two courses of their sit down dinner when it happens. He’s on his third glass of champagne, Liam’s onto his fourth, and they’ve taken the moment to leave their seats at the wedding party and stretch their legs by wandering amongst the other tables. The sun is setting outside, bathing the elaborately decorated room in a romantic, orangey-pink hue.

He’s been lingering diligently by Liam’s side, doing his best to have a good time and perhaps taking advantage of the slight shelter that Liam’s proximity offers. He can’t imagine that anyone will start anything — or that he’ll be tempted to start anything, more to the point — with Liam less than two feet away.

Gemma is far too close, of course, when Louis realises that maybe the protection he’d been relying on isn’t going to help him at all.

She looks a sight, stern and pissed off in her angelic white dress.

“Louis?” Whatever attempt she makes at sounding polite completely, completely misses the mark. “Can I have a word?”

Louis’ fingers tighten on his champagne flute and he unconsciously backs up a little. “Uhm,” is all he manages to say before he thumps into Liam’s broad chest. “Sure?”

Gemma’s gaze flicks briefly behind him, presumably to give Liam a quick onceover, before falling back to him. “Alone?” she says pointedly.

Behind him, Liam lets out an awkward little chuckle. Despite what a lot of people seem to think of Liam, he’s actually quite a perceptive fellow. Louis has absolutely no doubt that, by now, Liam has picked up what Gemma is throwing down. Still, he sounds as normal as ever when he actually does speak.

“Not sure you’re gonna find ‘alone’ in this crowd, Gemma,” he jokes good-naturedly. Some of the guests have decided to fill the time waiting for dessert on the dance floor and are enthusiastically dancing to a fairly eclectic variety of music — that has thus far ranged from _Uptown Girl_ to some kind of highland jig that Niall, Bobby and Greg had all raucously cheered to.

Gemma shoots him a grim smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

She actually reaches out then, like she’s going to grab Louis’ hand and march him outside. Louis pulls his hand back out of instinct and his chest puffs up a little indignantly. He’s been well behaved tonight, for fucks sake, and even if he hadn’t there’s no excuse to treat him like a child.

As a matter of fact, a fairly irate voice in his head points out _irately_. He’s getting pretty sick of the downright hostile treatment he’s received at the hands of Harry’s family. Harry he’ll accept it from — because it’s _Harry,_ and Harry has gone through everything that Louis has. But Gemma, and Anne for that matter, have absolutely no idea what Louis’ had to deal with it.

Before Louis can say any of this to her though, Liam is reacting on his behalf. He’s staring down at her hand, having obviously witnessed the whole exchange.

“Christ, Gemma,” he says, his laughter turning a touch incredulous. “What the hell do you want to say to him?”

He probably knows exactly what Gemma would like to say to him, but Louis appreciates the way that Liam’s handling it. Even if Gemma barely pays him any mind.

Doing an absolutely exceptional job at looking furious while somehow not distracting her own guests, she just narrows her eyes at Louis. “Really?” she says, “you wanna do this here?”

And, like. Sure, it’s her day — Louis’ gets that, he does. But that doesn’t give her the right to chew Louis out for something she clearly doesn’t understand. And he’s absolutely sick of stuttering through his own replies just to placate her.

Feeling tired and frazzled and more than a little bit petty, Louis considers doing something stupid (like maybe shrugging and saying, ‘well, why the fuck not?’). He doesn’t, in the end, but not to do her any sort of kindness. If she wants to make a scene then she can go ahead, but Louis sure as hell won’t be blamed for it.

So he doesn’t say anything.

That is apparently enough for Gemma, however.

“Okay,” she says. “Fine. _Fine._ What did you do to Harry?”

And wow, Louis hadn’t expected her to be quite _that_ direct. “What?” he says.

Gemma glares at him like he’s playing some kind of game that she’s growing tired of. As if Louis has _any_ idea what he’s doing right now.

She repeats herself stonily. “What. Did you do. To Harry?”

Liam isn’t laughing anymore, doesn’t sound even slightly entertained when he says, “Gemma. I think maybe you should calm down.”

She doesn’t listen to him, doesn’t even look away from Louis. She starts shaking her head though, laughing incredulously to herself like this is somehow fucking funny.

“I know you did something,” she says. She’s keeping her voice quite low, probably to prevent any kind of real scene in the middle of her wedding reception, but even that doesn’t mask the poisonous threat that laces her words. “He’s upset, he’s been upset since last night and it’s painfully obvious that it’s got something to do with you.”

And like, Louis can’t dispute that. After their conversation earlier, he’s absolutely certain that Harry has as many questions for Louis as Louis has for him. And if what he’d said the night before means what Louis thinks — hopes, maybe even prays — it does then certainly Harry’s going to be acting a little strangely. But Louis can’t be held responsible for that — he was the one to approach Harry, sure, but he definitely wasn’t the one who started talking about how he’d thought they’d get married and that they were for keeps.

Louis says as much. “I didn’t do anything!” he says back in a voice that is somehow both subdued and shrill.

“Bullshit,” Gemma says.

And this is so, so clearly an argument that Louis won’t be able win. How can he, when half of his story is a poorly constructed lie and a whole lot of emotional baggage?

Liam tags in when Louis falters.

“Gemma,” he says, leaning close around Louis’ shoulder. “You don’t understand. You don’t know the full story,” he insists.

For the first time since the very start of this awful little encounter, Gemma drags her gaze away from Louis long enough to shoot Liam a scathing look. “Really?” she almost hisses. “Because I was under the impression that this has nothing to do with you — so maybe you should piss off.”

“— _hey_!” Louis snaps, a fierce wave of protectiveness flooding through him.

Liam is rolling his eyes even as Louis’ speaks. “Fuck this,” he says.

He stomps off, shooting Gemma one last irritated look. Louis doesn’t even have it in him to resent him for it — this isn’t what Liam signed up for, after all. He shouldn’t have to deal with Gemma’s temper when he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

Louis feels his own nostrils flare and hopes his eyes are doing that distinct, fiery thing that his mother was always so good at.

“You don’t get to talk to him like that,” Louis snarls, “I don’t give a shit what fucking day it is.”

Gemma has the decency to look a little guilty at that, at least. She glances after Liam for a second — the barest, hint of a second — before looking back in Louis’ direction. But when she meets his eye again, she’s just as angry as ever.

“Tell me what you said to Harry,” she demands.

And honestly, that’s just kind of the straw that breaks the camel’s back. “Fuck off,” he snaps, and maybe he does manage the same look his mother has mastered because Gemma actually pulls back a little at his ferocity. “I didn’t say anything to Harry, okay? And even if I did say something to him, it wouldn’t be any of your fucking business. We’re adults, alright? Whatever happens between me and him? That’s between me and him.”

Aside from her small moment of genuine surprise, Gemma doesn’t back down in the slightest. But then, Louis wasn’t expecting her to.

Instead, she puffs herself up not dissimilarly to the way a cobra might, sizing in on an innocent leg that’s stepped too close. Before she can actually spit any of the several venomous thoughts that she’s surely thinking, however, an obnoxious tapping sound interrupts them, echoing around the room. 

Someone taps on the head of the microphone, once, twice. In tandem, Louis and Gemma swivel their heads and search out the source of the noise.

Louis’ eyes land on Liam right as Liam begins to speak.

“Uhm, hi,” he says awkwardly, talking far too close to the microphone. It garbles his words, so he pulls back a little and says, quieter now, “is this thing working?”

Nearly all the guest have fallen silent to watch him, so yes, the microphone is definitely working.

“Sorry,” Liam says, shooting several nervous smiles into the crowd before him. “Sorry everyone. I don’t mean to interrupt — I just. I just have something to say.”

The music that had been playing in the background cuts off, and Louis feels a not unfamiliar feeling of dread swell up in his tummy.

“Leemo,” Niall calls from another corner of the room — where he’d previously been dancing quite vigorously with his mother to Kanye West’s _Gold Digger_. “What the hell are you doing?”

His mother swats Niall on the shoulder, probably for swearing, but no one pays them much mind.

“Setting the record straight, Nialler,” Liam replies proudly.

Oh.

Fuck.

No.

Louis’ head starts to shake involuntarily even as Liam catches his eye across the room and smiles at him a bit grimly. Whatever he reads on Louis’ face, it clearly isn’t enough to get him to back the fuck up.

“So, like,” he says into the microphone. “About a month ago, I got dumped.”

Holy shit, Louis’ brain starts to screech at him. Holy fucking shit fuck, now is the time to start looking for the exits. As fate would have it, Harry is standing just to the left of the nearest one — watching Liam with a peculiar little curve to his brow. (For the record, that’s about the moment that the little voice in Louis’ head promptly gives up and just starts to laugh hysterically.)

“Apparently I was too stuck up, and like — boring, or whatever,” Liam continues. “But that’s not the point. My boyfriend dumped me, is the thing, and I was really upset about it and I didn’t really feel like talking to anyone and I really, really didn’t feel like coming to see all of you and have you worry about whether or not you could talk about love and relationships without me breaking down and crying, you know?”

With Louis’ brain currently flat lining, there’s nothing he can do except stare at Liam. It’s probably how onlookers feel when they see a train about to crash, Louis thinks. Or when they know the lion’s about to kill the gazelle on the Discovery Channel but there’s abso-fucking-lutely nothing they can do about it.

“So,” Liam says, “and bear with me for a sec because this is where it gets a little weird — ”

Karen is sitting next to Geoff at their table, watching their son with an awful, confused look on her face. Geoff’s frowning, Bobby too. Maura, frozen next to Niall, looks concerned — while her son openly gapes next to her.

Louis notices all of this with a numb kind of awareness that he imagines is usually reserved for people having out of body experiences.

Louis would really, really like to have an out of body experience. Right the fuck now, as a matter of fact.

“ — that’s when my amazing, lovely, stupid best friend offered to pretend to be my boyfriend so that you lot wouldn’t hassle me.”

Across the room, right near the fire exit that Louis had singled out earlier, Harry’s head whips around. Their eyes meet and suddenly it’s like Harry can see every single fucking thing that’s thrilling through Louis’ head, like he can hear the thump of Louis’ heartbeat from an entire world away.

“Holy shit,” Niall says.

“Holy shit,” Gemma says.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Louis whimpers.

“So, yeah,” Liam finishes, like he hasn’t just turned everything on its fucking head and danced all over the pile of rubble he’s left behind. “Um. That’s about it. But, and like, I want to make this really clear for anyone who’s interested — Louis’ single. Totally single, free as a bird. Not my boyfriend, just the best friend a bloke could ever ask for.”

Louis wishes desperately that he could read whatever it is that’s flitting across Harry’s face. There’s a buzzing in his ears that’s muting everything else, just a little. He thinks he sees anger, and disappointment, and confusion — but that’s only to be expected. Louis doesn’t want to see any more.

He doesn’t look away.

“And I’m single,” Liam, worlds away from Louis’ consciousness now, is still rambling into the microphone. “Not that that matters because none of you’ve asked and like, I’m thinking about maybe asking my violin teacher out when I get home, but. Like. You probably don’t really care about that.”

A lot of the guests are probably still listening to him, Louis thinks vaguely. All the friends and acquaintances and extended family who probably have no idea what the fuck’s going on. But the other people, the ones that matter, have shifted all their attention to Louis.

He feels like a deer caught in the headlights — and that metaphor is only allowed because Louis hopes that maybe, maybe if he stands still enough, the truck attached to the headlights might come roaring out of nowhere and put him out of his misery.

“I’m going to...” Liam is finishing awkwardly. “I’m gonna go now. Sorry. Enjoy your evening everyone. Congrats Niall and Gemma!”

The truck doesn’t come, because Louis’ luck has always been absolutely shit, but the stares do. Louis’ still watching Harry — Harry who hasn’t looked away either, who has barely even blinked.

It’s Gemma who breaks him from his reverie, in the end.

Shaking her head and speaking incredibly slowly, perhaps for emphasis, she actually starts to smile. “You _fucking idiot_.”

She punches him in the arm, and then pulls him into a brisk hug.

Naturally, Louis’ a little too flummoxed to really respond. She pulls away after a second and smiles. “I fucking knew the Louis Harry used to go on about was in there somewhere.”

Astonishingly, despite the panic and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, Louis feels some of his indignation return. He glances at Harry, entirely unable to help himself, then back to Gemma. He frowns. “I’ve always been here,” he says. Then he frowns some more. “And you don’t get to — you don’t get to do this, you’ve been so rude, and mean, and — ”

“Liam, what the _fuck_?!” Niall’s loud holler interrupts them. Nearly all the adults in the room old enough to remember Niall in his nappy tut, and he hastily apologises. Liam, who’d been heading towards Louis, is cut off at the pass as Niall swings an arm around his neck and proceeds to noogie the hell out of him. “You fucking knob head,” he says, this time much, much quieter. “What were you thinking?”

When they reach Louis and Gemma, Niall swings his attention to Louis. “And you!” he says. “Holy fuck, I reckon I like you even more now.”

And that.

That is not what Louis had been expecting.

“What?” Louis asks a little breathlessly.

Niall doesn’t seem to notice how tensely Louis’ holding himself, or if he does he doesn’t care. “What kind of guy pretends to be someone’s boyfriend so his parents don’t give him a hard time? You’re a freaking legend, mate.”

Liam smiles, incredibly fondly. “He is,” he says.

“Wait,” Louis says, taking a hasty step back. He can’t help but glance at Harry again, Harry who’s still standing near the exit, before looking back to Niall. “What the fuck is happening here?”

“You were so good at it too, though!” Niall is still saying. “All the hand holding and the secret little conversations—OH! Were you corroborating your stories?”

Niall’s had a few too many drinks to really get away with using words like corroborating, but he’s being so lovely about this whole thing that Louis figures he’ll let it slide just this once.

“You never kissed though!” Niall says excitedly. “I thought that was a bit weird.”

Gemma frowns. “What?” she says.

“They never kissed!” Niall explains, like she hasn’t been standing two feet away this entire conversation. “Like, in front of us?”

Gemma scrunches up her face. “Did you _want_ them to?”

Then it’s Niall’s turn. The twin looks of confusion on their faces, with just a hint of disgust that Louis elects not to take personally, are actually kind of adorable. Or maybe Louis would think that if he wasn’t in some kind of best-friend-inflicted shell shock.

He looks at Harry again.

“Why is that weird?” Gemma asks. “ _We_ don’t kiss in front of people.”

Niall gets an incredibly stupid look on his face and waggles his eyebrows in a way that can only mean trouble. “Oh yeah?” he says.

He lunges at her and effectively removes the two of them from the conversation.

Liam and Louis aren’t left alone, though. Not at all. Liam’s was a big revelation, and in this particular forum it only really invited follow up questions. When the sound of a gruff throat clearing floats over Liam’s shoulder, Louis’ senses once again consider bolting.

He looks at Harry. Stays.

“Liam. James. Payne,” a threatening woman’s voice sounds out from behind Liam’s back.  

Liam rotates slowly, while Louis focuses on regulating his breathing. “Mum?” he says.

When he moves, he reveals both Karen and Geoff standing behind him. Something incredibly calculating lingers in their eyes — the kind of looks that are learnt from years of raising children.

Karen walks up to him with a stern look and swats Liam solidly in the shoulder.

“ _Ouch_!” Liam protests like he somehow believes he doesn’t deserve it. “Mum!”

She gets right up in his face though, lifting a finger and looking him dead in the eye. She doesn’t even blink as he whines. “Don’t you even think about lying to me like this again, young man,” she says.

Louis begins to pray for his future, or for at least a cheap train ticket that departs within the hour, when she surprises him.

Actually no, she doesn’t surprise him. It’s absolutely no surprise at all, in fact, when her face softens. She pinches Liam’s cheek, doesn’t pay any mind to the way Liam’s face scrunches up, and then drags her big-shouldered boy down into a firm embrace.

“I don’t want you ever being too scared to tell me what’s going on in your life,” Louis hears her say to him. When she pulls back, she looks more serious than Louis’ ever seen. “No matter what. We’re your first port of call, okay?”

Liam smiles down at her a little bashfully. “Okay,” he says.

She pats his shoulder for a second, smooths down his fairly messy hair, and then turns her attention to Louis.

Louis looks at Harry and gathers all the remaining courage he has in him before he drags his gaze away. When he meets Karen’s eye, he is three parts nervous and ten parts terrified.

He is taken completely off guard by the hug she wraps him up in. It’s different to Gemma’s — even just because Louis doesn’t automatically want to wriggle away. Karen has been nothing but supportive, nothing but lovely this entire trip — but, but this is on a whole new level.

“Thank you,” she says, perhaps a little wetly, into his ear.

At this, Louis has to pull back. “Thank you?” he echoes incredulously.

Karen smiles, her features gone incredibly soft. She pats a little at Louis’ cheek. “It might not have been the smartest thing my son’s even done,” she says. “But I don’t mind so much if he’s got someone like you looking out for him.”

Louis gapes at her.

“I know I haven’t known you for long, but you must be a very good friend if you’re willing to go through with a charade like this,” she says. “And, boyfriend or not, my son’s been incredibly happy this week.”

When Louis glances over her shoulder at Geoff, he’s nodding along. He’s got his own smile on his face, a happy content little thing.

“We look forward to getting to know you, son,” Geoff says.

And Louis — Louis just honestly can’t believe his fucking luck.

He looks at Harry.

Only, fuck. This time, when Louis looks to the exit across the room, Harry isn’t there looking back. Louis looks around a little frantically, but Liam’s family are quickly encroaching. And it’s lovely, it’s absolutely lovely and such, such a relief that they don’t mind — that they still seem to like Louis, that no grudges have been held — but now, without Harry in his eye line, Louis feels the panic within him rise.

He must have left, Louis thinks. He must have realised that none of this is fucking worth it, and left.

It’s only as he starts to get really dramatic, as tears (from stress, from exhaustion, from disappointment) begin to well in his eyes, that Harry appears.

He’s close, very close, and he leans even closer. Louis watches the way that Harry’s curls skate across his collarbone as he stretches around Louis and smiles sweetly at Karen.

“You don’t mind if I borrow him for a moment, do you?” he asks. “Louis, I mean?”

Louis’ heart jackrabbits into his throat.

“I promise I’ll bring him right back.” Harry’s still looking at Karen, who doesn’t even hesitate before nodding and turning her wonderful, teary smile back towards Liam and Geoff.

Harry takes Louis’ hand.

Louis’ focus is pulled almost exclusively to the feeling of Harry’s long fingers, searing across the papery thin skin on the inside of Louis’ wrist. It’s the second time that a Styles has reached for his arm in the space of about half an hour, Louis notes a little numbly. But this time, he doesn’t fight it, and lets Harry lead him out in the cool night air.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I do actually know that I've been unbelievably cruel with my cliffhangers, but please don't kill me. Only two chapters left to go now! 
> 
> The overwhelming messages of support I got following my rant last week were absolutely wonderful, and totally reignited my spirit. I've been so productive this week that, on top of this chapter, I've also written two little one shots (a smutty Regency AU and an incredibly silly Arthurian AU) so feel free to check those out while you wait for the next chapter. 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter - I definitely loved writing it! - and I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments! xx


	11. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So we've made it! It's pretty early in the morning for me so bear with me if I don't make much sense. I'm sorry that this chapter is a little later - but I promise I do have a good reason. It was actually ready for posting yesterday, but you've been so good to me these past few weeks and your comments have been so lovely and kind that I thought I'd do you all a solid and post the last two chapters together! So yeah, make sure you don't miss Chapter Twelve, which will be going up a couple of seconds after this chapter. I hope you love them both!!

The sun has well and truly set when they step away from the party. Louis isn’t thinking about much outside of the feeling of his hand inside of Harry’s, but he notices that at least. The winery has lights to illuminate the pathways between the buildings and the gardens, and a light post every couple of metres, but they don’t do much. The shadows, as they roll across Harry’s face, are transfixing.

Harry doesn’t speak as they walk, doesn’t even turn around to look. He doesn’t need to worry that Louis isn’t following, after all. Not with the way his fingers are currently entangled with Louis’.

They round the corner of the building, well and truly removing them from any nosy eyes, before Harry stops. It’s even darker here, without the path lights to guide their way.

Louis doesn’t say anything — doesn’t even _have_ anything to say. His heart is still beating far faster than it should be; a combined reaction to Liam’s revelation and fear of whatever Harry’s might be thinking now. It will be a miracle if his mouth can still remember to form words, to be perfectly honest.

“You—” Harry breaks the silence abruptly.

He drops Louis’ hand and takes a dramatically large step away. He lifts his hands to his hair, the move pulling awkwardly at the shoulders of his suit jacket, while his fingers scrunch into his curls. He leaves them there when he turns around again, facing Louis will an absolutely unreadable look on his face.

“You’re — ” he tries again. “You’re single?”

Slowly, carefully, Louis nods.

Harry makes an abrupt, aborted move then. He wrenches his hand out of his hair and steps close, impossibly close, stretching his arm out — only, then, with his hand hovering in midair, he seems to rethink.

His arm snaps back to his side in the flash of an eye, and he lets out a loud, frustrated sigh.

Louis has no idea what to think. More than that, he has no idea what Harry might be thinking right now. Where this conversation might go is absolutely beyond Louis at the moment — there are too many variables, too many possibilities.

When Harry speaks again, he sounds sad. Confused, perhaps, but definitely sad.

“You...” He practically exhales the word. “Wh—why didn’t you say?”

And the thing is, Louis had so, so many reasons not to say. But now, trying desperately hard to maintain Harry’s imploring gaze, Louis can’t remember a single one of them.

He shrugs and tries his best to answer anyway.

“He’s my best mate,” Louis says quietly. “He needed me.”

It didn’t matter that Liam’s family had proved to be far more understanding than Louis or Liam had expected. At the time, this whole past week and the weeks of preparation that had preceded it, Liam had needed him.

Harry doesn’t look convinced. “So what?” he says — and god, his words have turned wet in a way that breaks Louis into fucking pieces. “You just decided to, to pretend?”

He sounds absolutely incredulous and Louis gets it, he does. But all of his reasons are already out in the air — whether they’d been shared in this quiet moment between them or in the room full to the brim with people five minutes earlier. There’s not much more Louis can say that can make this better.

So he just shrugs again. “I mean,” he says. “Yeah.”

Harry stares at him for a moment longer, the air between them still and stagnant, before completely deflating. The fight seeps out of his shoulders like a balloon reluctantly letting out its air and he slumps, falling back against the brick wall.

When he doesn’t speak, Louis realises he might have to say a little bit more.

“There was this whole thing,” Louis tries to explain. “With Liam’s phone. And like, I was half asleep and Karen got confused and, and we just went with it.”

Harry waits for a minute, long enough that Louis begins to desperately think of any more information he could provide to try and explain himself, before huffing out an incredibly, incredibly dry laugh.

“You just went with it?” he echoes flatly.

Louis really, really doesn’t know what to do. Shrugging again seems insensitive, callous, but he can’t help it.

Harry lets out another incredulous puff of laughter. “You,” he says slowly. “Are a really, _really_ good actor.”

Louis flushes and feels it all the way down to his toes.

“I mean it,” Harry continues. “Like, you had me convinced. You and him, it was so easy to believe that you, you just—” he cuts himself off there, shaking his head as if to dissuade himself from a thought, before sighing, “—you had me convinced.”

He sounds almost self-deprecating when he finishes, ending with a small, resigned smile. And Louis hates it, has hated every word that’s left Harry’s mouth. It’s one thing to think that he and Liam had some kind of effect on Harry, and another thing entirely to hear it confirmed. And he can’t have Harry think for another second that Louis and Liam did this with some kind of premeditated motive.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Louis says. “I had no idea.”

Harry shoots him a look. There are lines under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept, and he looks like he doesn’t believe Louis for a second.

“Really,” Louis says. “I was too busy trying to remember all of Liam’s family to worry about who the bride was — and by the time I found out it was too late.”

“You didn’t see her name on the invitation?” Harry asks.

Louis shoots him a sad smile. “Didn’t even see the invite,” he says. “Liam just told me the date and when we were leaving.”

He recalls the moment he’d first seen Harry, standing on Liam’s doorstep and gazing up into the familiar, familiar face of a stranger. He doesn’t remember Harry’s face much. He’d avoided Harry’s eye as though it was the law, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t looked. Instead of recalling the look on Harry’s face, Louis remembers the shape of Harry’s hands, the sharp lines of his boots, and the shadow of Harry’s silhouette in his periphery.

He’d been caught up in his panic at the time, Louis remembers, far too worried about himself to notice how Harry had reacted. He wonders now what Harry might have thought. He must have been shocked, at least as much as Louis was. Did he think that Louis had planned it like that? That Louis had seen Gemma’s name on the invitation and decided to come along just for fun?

_God._ All this time that Louis’ been complaining, Harry must have been dealing with so much more.

“Well,” Harry says after a moment. “Well done to you and Liam, I suppose. You had everyone fooled.”

Louis smiles a little grimly. There isn’t really an answer for that and, hell, Louis’ not even sure if Harry is waiting for one, but he tries anyway. “I’ve known him a long time.”

Harry laughs again “You can tell.”

He doesn’t seem to be getting it, Louis thinks. Like Harry’s heard the words but doesn’t quite understand what Louis’ trying to say—which would be completely understandable, Louis thinks, because _Louis_ doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

“He’s my best friend,” Louis says again, like this time it will mean more than it did the last time he said it. Like it can somehow explain everything.

“You were very good. At being boyfriends,” Harry muses then. “Maybe you should consider it.”

Louis balks. “Consider what?”

Harry shrugs. “Being boyfriends.”

Louis does his absolute best not to scrunch his face up in disgust and proceeds to fail dismally.

“Ew—no,” he says, before he can help himself. He is momentarily glad that Liam hadn’t been around to hear his reaction, before refocusing on the moment at hand.

 

It seems ridiculous — outlandish, even — that Harry doesn’t know the reality of his and Liam’s relationship. Even when he’d thought they were dating, Louis had been glaringly obvious about where his true affections lay. Was it really, truly possible that Harry hadn’t noticed?

“Why not?” Harry asks. “You’d make a good couple, obviously. Everyone here already thought you were.”

Louis frowns. “Because we _told_ them so,” he says. “And we pretended when we were around everyone.”

Harry shrugs. “It didn’t seem hard,” he says.

Louis feels himself grow a little frustrated now, confronted with the reality that Harry really _doesn’t know_. “Well, I guess I am just a good actor!” he says. “There is no way that me and Liam would ever date for real, we’re not like that.”

“All I’m saying is that you could be,” Harry says. He’s still not fucking getting it. “Why not at least consider it, after all of this?”

It suddenly becomes clear to Louis that there is no time left to waste on being vague. This is it, the final countdown, or whatever, and if Harry is going to understand what’s going on inside of Louis’ head then perhaps the only answer is to _tell_ him.

“Because you’re here!” Louis says irately.

Everything falls completely, irrevocably, still.

Harry’s jaw snaps audibly shut.

Louis runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “How could I — how could I even _look_ at anyone else, with you here?” he demands, like Harry is actually going to offer him an answer. “You’re everywhere! And when you’re not, you’re in my head! You and your stupid shirts and your hair and your, your _everything_ , how could anyone else evencome _close—_?”

Maybe it’s because he’s distracted, or stressed, or completely fucking exhausted, but Louis doesn’t even see it when Harry moves. In one second, he is standing still, his back propped up against the brick wall behind him, and in the next he’s got Louis’ trapped, pressed up against that same wall and suddenly breathing the same air.

One of his hands curls at the nape of Louis’ neck. As they breathe into the tense and loaded silence, his fingernail scratches softly down the hypersensitive skin of Louis’ nape.

Louis feels shock shudder through his whole body when Harry’s gaze drops to his lips.

“I want to kiss you,” Harry says.

Louis blinks up at him. His eyes, even in this light, are extraordinarily green.

“Can I?” Harry asks.

Louis wets his lips, nods, and forces himself not to scream, _yes, please, god fucking yes._

His voice is hoarse when he says, instead, “Yeah.”

Then they’re kissing.

Tasting Harry again sends Louis’ heartbeat soaring. Louis feels it in his body like a tremor he can’t control, like Harry’s touch is enough to shake him to his very core. It’s a tentative, delicate little thing — the soft brush of Harry’s parted lips against Louis’ — but fuck it if it isn’t the closest thing to home Louis’ felt in years.

The first kiss blends seamlessly into a second and then a third, and Louis finally allows his eyes to flutter closed. Harry’s fingers curl, finding the short hairs at the back of Louis’ head and brushing through them softly, pulling Louis closer. His other hand settles on the curve of Louis’ jaw, clutching him with a delicacy that Louis’ not used to. Like Louis’ something precious, that Harry doesn’t trust his clumsy hands to hold too tightly.

Louis wants Harry’s hands to touch him everywhere. Desire settles deep within him and takes its hold. His hands, which had clutched instinctively at Harry’s waist as soon as his lips had landed, rise now to the wide curve of Harry’s shoulders.

He wants; God _he wants,_ only now the difference is that he’s allowed to.

The skin of Harry’s chin is soft where it brushes against Louis’ — same as it always was — only now, Louis can feel the bristle of his stubble scraping across it. It will leave a mark, he thinks. Something tangible, that he’ll be able to look at for the rest of the night and think _you weren’t fucking dreaming, see?_

It seems odd, for the exchange to be so soft in the wake of all the stress Louis’ kept pent up inside. But then, at exactly the same time, it seems like the most natural thing in the world. It’s like returning from a long trip away, stepping over the threshold and being engulfed, swallowed, swept away by the familiar smell of home.

“ _God_ ,” Harry says when they finally part. It’s a whisper, a reverent breath that spills warmly across Louis’ wet and bitten lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Louis clenches his fists, his fingers grasping uselessly at the fabric of Harry’s suit shoulder. It’s padded and squishes under his fingers, but it traps Harry against him for a moment longer and that’s all he needs. “Me too,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

“I thought you were in love with him,” Harry says. He doesn’t move, or make any attempt at pulling away. Just leans forward, shadowing Louis’ body against the wall, and keeps his hands exactly where they are. “I thought I’d—”

“I’m not,” Louis rushes to interrupt. “I’m not; not with anyone, not since—”

Harry lets out a wet little laugh, looking happy and sad all at once. “I thought it was my fault,” he says. “Like — like, me leaving set you up to fall for him, or something.”

 “It didn’t,” Louis says. “I’m haven’t.”

Harry kisses him again. It’s not quite as soft this time, a little more desperate, as though Harry has given up on finding any answers in Louis’ words and has instead decided to search for them in Louis’ lips.

He moves in with his whole body, stepping closer and squashing Louis between himself and the wall. Louis huffs a soft whimper when Harry presses against him. Without even thinking about it he loosens his grip on Harry’s shoulders and moves up to grasp at his neck, craning up on his toes, desperate for more.

He can’t help the slow, spreading heat he feels at the touch of Harry’s tongue, the feel of his own, sliding across Harry’s lower lip.

It feels exquisite, trapped up between the wall and Harry’s body. There’s a chance he’d stay here forever, if he were given the option.

But he doesn’t have the option. And his mind might be cloudy with the taste of Harry on his tongue, but it can’t fully distract him from the dread pooling in his gut. Louis doesn’t even know what this means — outside of the fact that Harry wants him at least in this moment. But he knows this much for sure. If they don’t talk, if they continue to leave things unspoken and unclear, they’ll end up broken and apart the same way they had before.

He holds on for a second longer, savouring the hot press of Harry’s lips and the sweet taste of his tongue before slowly pulling away. His fingers scrape across the shorter hairs at the back of Harry’s neck as he leans back down and falls onto flat feet.

It’s hard to see in the limited light, but Louis can see enough. The swollen curve of Harry’s bottom lip beckons him back for more.

But he steels himself, stays firms. Harry is still leaning over him, crowding him up against the brick, and it’s lovely, so lovely, but it does make it a little harder to focus.

Louis does his best. His breath is loud, shallow, when he speaks. “We should,” he says, “we should talk.”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk,” he says.

He leans forward again, close enough that their lips brush before Louis shrinks away. He can’t do this; he can’t, no matter how much he wants to. If he starts now, if he loses himself now, then he’ll never _ever_ find his fucking way back.

“I can’t do this!” he says quickly, urgently, before Harry’s lips can land.

Harry freezes. “What?” he says.

And god, it’s torture to pull away. But Louis does it anyway, because he needs to think and he can’t even begin to do that with his senses drunk on Harry’s everything. As soon as Harry’s hands drop away from the wall, Louis puts some distance between them. He steps away from the wall, out of Harry’s reach, and does his best to translate his thoughts into something that resembles coherency.

“ _We_ can’t do this,” he corrects himself first — because the shocked and worried look on Harry’s face is far too much for him to bear. “Not without — we’re not kids anymore, I can’t — I can’t kiss you and have it mean nothing.”

That, at least, wipes away Harry’s confusion. His features drop, his face clearing into something completely unreadable.

Louis rushes on. “It means something to me,” he tries to explain. “It always means something—”

“What?” Harry interrupts. “And you think it doesn’t to me?”

Louis doesn’t — doesn’t know how to answer that. Three years ago he might have, but not now. Not after everything. He has _no_ idea where Harry’s coming from. He tries to explain that as well, as kindly as he can. “Well...” he begins.

Apparently that is all the answer that Harry needs.

“Fuck you,” he says, and the words are acid in the air between them. “It means _everything_ to me.”

Louis feels his breath leave him, a sorry little puff of air that seeps out of his lungs while his heart leaps into his throat. He doesn’t mean to look surprised, doesn’t mean to look like anything really, but he can’t even help the way his jaw hangs a little loose.

Harry, seeing this, lets out an incredulous huff. “No, honestly,” he says a second later, fire lighting his eyes. “Fuck you. You don’t _know_ what this past week has been like, watching you play house with your new fucking soul mate—”

Louis makes an abortive little sound. “He’s not my soul mate!”

His protest goes unnoticed, or at least, unacknowledged. “You were always together. _Always._ Wherever I looked, there you were. Holding his hand or hugging him or wearing his clothes—”

Louis scoffs. “I didn’t wear his clothes!”

“Yes, you did!” Harry replies irately. “At the park, you were wearing his clothes, they were way too big on you and you would never have bought—” here, Harry flushes a little pink, like perhaps he thinks he’s said too much. Louis might pay it further attention, if he wasn’t already caught up on the fact that Harry could still tell what sort of clothes Louis liked to wear — because he’s right, he’d never have bought pants in a size large, no matter how big his bum is. Harry continues before Louis can get too carried away with that train of thought. “—he even said so! He said, careful, you’re gonna stain my trousers, or something.”

He goes even pinker, flushed and hot and a little bit frantic. Louis doesn’t know what to do.

“Harry,” he says, for lack of anything else. “We were _pretending_.”

“Well, I didn’t know that, did I?”

Louis can’t help but linger on what Harry had said only a few minutes earlier — about the preposterous notion that their breakup had somehow led him straight into Liam’s arms. It’s so bizarre, such an outlandish and unrealistic thought, that Louis feels almost overwhelmed by it.

“I can’t believe,” he says. “I can’t believe you thought — you’ve _seen_ me in a relationship, you _know_ what I look like when I’m in love, and you thought—?”

Harry’s expression turns thunderous.

“No,” he says, and it’s so hard and so resolute that it wipes away any impulse Louis has to express his incredulity. “You don’t get to do that. You’re the one who lied. Don’t blame me for trusting you.”

Louis softens. “That’s — that’s not what I meant.”

Harry doesn’t meet his eye.

Silence lingers for a moment, disrupted only by the muted sounds of the reception inside. This isn’t working, Louis thinks. Arguing like this, it isn’t getting them anywhere.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Louis asks quietly. Perhaps it isn’t the best time for that question but it’s been lingering in the back of his mind since day one — and if they can’t talk about anything else, then perhaps they can talk about this.

Harry frowns. “What?”

“When you saw me,” Louis says. “That first day, why didn’t you tell anyone? You could have, it would have been easy — but you didn’t. You just pretended we didn’t know each other.”

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but somewhere in the middle of his last sentence, his voice breaks. It was so awful, is the thing, to be reduced to a complete stranger by — by _Harry_ of all people. To have to pretend that the person standing across from him wasn’t the most important person in the world.

Harry did that. Harry made that choice. And, even with all the shit that Louis was responsible for, Louis deserved to know why.

Harry doesn’t answer for a moment though. He opens his mouth once or twice, like he’s attempting to give it a go, but ultimately doesn’t say anything. Louis is about to give up, about to brush it off like it’s just another secret he can handle not knowing, when Harry finally manages it.

“You were holding hands,” he says. “And you seemed really happy — and Liam seemed happy, and then his mum did as well, and I couldn’t be the one who ruined it.”

Louis tries very hard to keep his features blank, and probably fails. “You just — it was like none of it even mattered to you,” he says — because if there had ever been a time for honesty, now was it. “Like you could just brush it all under the rug with one big smile.”

Harry starts shaking his head at Louis’ second word — and by the time Louis’ finished, tears have begun to pool in his eyes. It triggers an instant reflex in Louis, whose own eyes begin to sting just at the sight.

“It was awful,” Harry says, his words wet. “God, Louis — you don’t even know.”

“I do,” Louis says hurriedly. “I do know, though.”

They fall into each other again. This time they don’t kiss. Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders and holds him tighter than Louis’ been held in years. Louis gives as good as he gets though, snaking his arms around Harry’s waist and holding on for dear, dear life. He doesn’t want to fucking let go.

Harry ducks his head, buries his nose in Louis’ hair, and presses a kiss to the crown of Louis’ head. “I’ve missed you,” he says.

And that’s it, that’s enough, that’s all it takes. Louis’ heartbeat ticks upwards, his pulse thunders, and he thinks with a startling clarity that even if this moment doesn’t go his way, at least he will have been honest.

“I love you,” he says. And then, once it’s out there and Harry’s chest has stopped rising and falling under Louis’ ear, it rushes out in one fell swoop. “I just do. I didn’t — I haven’t stopped, not once, not since — not since everything. I’m in love with you.”

“—I moved to Manchester for you,” Harry says then.

And it’s — that’s, that’s not what Louis had been expecting. He doesn’t even know what he _had_ thought Harry would say, but he knows that it definitely wasn’t that.

He pulls away, cranes his neck back to look Harry in the eye. “What?” he says, not even caring when it’s a little shaky.

Harry smiles — Harry _smiles,_ which must be a good sign. His cheeks are pink, and dimpled, and Louis feels hope light up in his chest. “Manchester,” Harry says, a mad, wet giggle escaping him. “I moved there for you.”

Louis gapes at him. “What?” he says again. And then again. “What? How—why?”

Harry shrugs, and lifts one hand to wipe below his eye. None of his tears have fallen yet, but by God they’re threatening to. The grip of his other hand on Louis doesn’t weaken for a second.

“It was stupid,” he says. “I didn’t think it through and Gemma said I was being stupid but, I thought it’d be like, romantic?”

Louis feels faint. Well and truly faint — like his head is spinning high in the clouds, disconnected from the rest of his body, and his knees might give way at any moment.

Harry holds him steady though.

“Mum thought so too,” he adds, almost an afterthought. “Kind of. She was humouring me a bit, I think.”

The hope that’s unfurled in Louis’ stomach is threatening now to take over him completely, spurring him to do something stupid like dance and sing even though Harry hasn’t even explained what he means yet. The smile on his face must be something terrifying.

He tightens his hand in the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt instead, right at the curve of Harry’s waist, and forces himself to wait.

“I thought,” Harry goes on. “Like, maybe I’d run into you on the street or something? Or at the cinema or in a bathroom somewhere — I thought it would be easy and spontaneous and — and we’d pick up right where we left or, like.”

He cuts himself off and ducks his head, like he doesn’t know where to look. He’s still smiling though, a goofy, happy little thing that practically lights Louis’ insides on fire.

“I dunno,” he says. “It was stupid. But, like. Basically, what I’m trying to say — even though I’m rambling on like a mad thing — is that I love you too.”

Louis’ heart stops beating.

And, sure, that’s not physically possible but like, _Louis’ heart stops beating._

Harry smiles breaks into a wide and teary grin, his eyebrows pulling down at the sides and his eyes crinkling. It’s so, so sincere. “I love you, Lou,” he says. “So, so much. More than anything.”

This time when they kiss, they don’t stop for a long, long while.

.

When they break apart, they don’t so much break apart as lean their heads back a little. Harry keeps his head bowed down, his forehead pressed against Louis’, and neither of them move their arms in the slightest. Louis’ tangled his fingers in Harry’s hair and feels very content never to move them ever again.

They breathe together quietly for a moment, before Louis’ gaze drops to Harry’s lips. They’re pressed pink, a delightful, ruined kind of raw, and Louis is absolutely certain that his look the same.

Louis muses on them for a while, happy to stay silent while they recoup. Harry is the one who breaks the silence.

“You know,” he says quietly, sombrely. “If we’re going to do this again, we should probably talk about some things.”

Louis lets the thought settle in his head, before swallowing and nodding. He pulls his fingers out of Harry’s hair and braces himself.

Harry grimaces a little, as though he wants to skip this conversation as much as Louis does. But they can’t — they won’t — because Harry’s right. If this is going to work, if _they’re_ going to work, then this conversation is absolutely necessary.

Harry is brave enough to take the first step. “I shouldn’t have left,” he says.  

Louis shakes his head immediately, but Harry continues.

“I should have, I should have tried harder, to make it work, or something — I pretty much gave up, after all.”

Louis digs the fingers of his other hand, the one still holding Harry’s arm, into the meat of Harry’s bicep. “No,” he interrupts starkly. “No, you didn’t.”

Harry gives him a look. _Pull the other one,_ it says.

Louis remains steadfast. “You _didn’t_ ,” he says again. “You — I mean, sure, we probably should have handled it a little better, but you didn’t — it’s not your fault. And of course, you should have gone travelling!”

Harry doesn’t look convinced.

“No, really,” Louis insists. “You’re, you’re so different. I mean, you’re the same, you’re exactly the same where it counts, but you’re not, you know what I mean? You’ve been places, you’ve done things, you’ve —  I couldn’t have been the one to take that from you.”

“You wouldn’t have been, but!” Harry says. “I could’ve done the same thing here, if I’d just come with you when you got the job, or something!”

But Louis is resolute. “No,” he says. “You were absolutely right to go travelling. I might have killed you if you hadn’t.”

He doesn’t know if that’s the truth, of course he doesn’t, but it feels close enough. Even the idea of it now, in perfectly clear hindsight, makes Louis a little sick. This Harry has grown up so much, has learnt so many things that the old Harry didn’t know. The idea that Louis might have been the one to rob him of that, to hold him back from experiencing all those things, makes him fucking nauseous.

“I wanted you to come with me,” Harry says.

It’s another bombshell, one that floors Louis’ to his very core. Harry had — Harry had _what?_ Whatever expression he’s feeling — and he’s feeling about a million, so it’s hard to determine exactly one — must show on his face, because Harry answers like he’d heard the question in Louis’ head.

“I know I didn’t ask,” Harry says. “I know I should have. But I just — I thought you’d say no.”

Louis doesn’t know the answer to that either.

“You’d just got the job,” Harry rushes on. “And you were so excited, and then I just felt stupid for thinking you’d have come along at all, like I shouldn’t have even thought to ask.”

Louis blinks at him, the tears that had settled while they’d kissed returning full force. “You could have asked,” he says.

Harry smiles. His tears are back as well. “I know,” he says quickly. “Like, _now_ I know. But back then—? You were so sure of yourself, Lou, you knew exactly what you were doing and I had no fucking idea. It was terrifying.”

Louis feels his face crumple. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

But Harry shakes his head. “No, fuck,” he says. His hands come up to cradle Louis’ cheeks. “Don’t apologise, God. I should be the one apologising.”

Louis smiles a little at that, taking solace in the warm press of Harry’s palms. “You definitely shouldn’t be,” he says. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

They cry wetly together for a moment, somehow smiling and sobbing all at once. It’s just, it’s so overwhelming, it’s so, so much to handle all at once — and neither of them have ever been very good at stemming the flow of their tears once they’ve begun.

“I love you,” Harry says again, his hoarse and snotty voice somehow managing to sound incredibly sure. “I’m not going to fuck it up this time, I promise.”

Louis wipes uselessly at his cheeks. “You didn’t fuck it up last time,” he says. “We — it was both of us, I think.”

Harry laughs. It’s a fairly ugly sound, all caught up in his throat and his nose and far too soggy for anything truly romantic — but that’s exactly what it is. “We really need to work on our communication skills,” he jokes.

Louis laughs right back at him, feeling the same mix of emotion that he’s sure has Harry spun out like a string. “ _Really_ ,” he agrees.

They both smile stupidly at each other. They probably look completely mental, standing outside the way that they are, crying into each other as though they’ve just been told the world is going to end.

Harry stretches out his huge thumb and wipes away the tears on Louis’ cheek. “I’m your boyfriend,” he says grandly, petting at the soft skin below Louis’ eye. “Okay? I’m making sure we’re clear. I’m your boyfriend.”

Louis laughs, leaning his face into Harry’s palm. “You’re my boyfriend,” he agrees.

“And you’re my boyfriend, too.”

Louis laughs again. “Yeah,” he says, and, _God_ , will these tears ever stop? “I’m your boyfriend, too.”

“I love you,” Harry says.

Louis will certainly, definitely, absolutely never get tired of hearing those words. He smiles, feels as though all the angels of heaven have come down to sing some kind of chorus in the back of his head, and somehow manages to reply, “I love you, too.” Then, “Oh _God,_ your mother _hates_ me.”

It seems absolutely stupid of him to think of anyone other than Harry in a moment like this — but if this is real, if they’re really going to do this a second time, then mother’s in law are something very real to be concerned about. The fact that it’s Anne only makes her seem more threatening.

Harry rolls his eyes though. “No, she doesn’t. She loves you.”

Louis splutters. He feels a little high. “Maybe back before!” he says. “But you haven’t seen the way she’s been looking at me, she _hates_ me.”

Harry waves Louis’ concerns away with an airy hand gesture and looks completely, completely unbothered. “She’s just been a bit protective, is all,” he says.

And, well. Louis can give him that at least. Considering how his own mother might have reacted if their situations were reversed, he can’t complain too much.

“Well, she did a good job of it,” Louis relents. “Your sister as well. You should have heard—” he cuts himself off there. He doesn’t want to do this, to Harry or himself. If he’s going to complain about Gemma to anyone, it shouldn’t be to her little brother.

Harry purses his lips anyway. “No, yeah,” he says. “She mentioned some stuff. I’ll talk to her. Obviously, she’s been a bit stressed.”

Privately, Louis doesn’t really think that stress is a good enough excuse for the way that Gemma has behaved. But, like he’d said, the last person who needs to hear that is Harry. He lets it be, for now at least. He’d rather take it up with her personally, anyway.

He’s saved having to answer by the sound of a call from around the corner, a rather distinct and familiar Irish accent shouting out, “Harry? Louis? Where’ve ya got to, ya bastards?”

Niall has clearly had quite a lot to drink, in their absence.

He rounds the corner not a second later. His face is incredibly pink and his smile is incredibly wide. His suit jacket has gone, he’s got his tie draped casually around his neck and a couple of his top buttons undone. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

He stares at them for a long, silent moment.

“Well,” he says loudly a second later. “Looks like there’s a lot of back story to be shared _here_.” He pauses long enough for them both to flush before chuckling to himself and continuing. “Why don’t we save that for later, _hmmm_?” He lifts his hand to the corner of his mouth and whispers, very, very loudly. “ _WHEN I’VE NOT HAD SO MUCH TO DRUNK. DRINK. I MEAN, DRINK.”_

Louis, who’s perhaps even more exhausted now that he’s shed a couple of thousand tears, only barely manages not to erupt in giggles then and there. Harry isn’t quite as strong, but is at least subtle as he begins to laugh into Louis’ shoulder.

Niall sighs dramatically. “Come _on then_ , you thunder-stealers!” he says, stomping over and shoving his way between them. He swings his arms over their shoulders, and grins once again. “I got married today, ya know? We’ve got shit to celebrate!”

And, while Louis suspects this won’t be the first time that he agrees with Niall wholeheartedly, it is the first time that he feels it down to his very bones.

“Yeah,” he says, meeting Harry’s eye over Niall’s head. “We do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading guys - and I hope you like Chapter Twelve!! (Remember to comment and tell me what you thought because feedback is my fave, fave, fave and it fuels me to write more fics like this :D) x


	12. TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND FINALLY. HERE IT IS. The culmination of eleven weeks work and we finally, finally get to rate this bad boy explicit. Smut is always weird for me to write, but I'm actually quite happy with how this chapter has turned out so I hope that you are too. 
> 
> I just want to say one final thank you to clare and babz for beings such amazing cheerleaders/betas for this fic. They are the real MVPs, guys, because without them promising me that 'it's not shit, god, sam, shut up' I totally wouldn't have had the balls to even begin posting let alone keep up with it and see it to an end. So thank you my lovelies!!

**12.**

There is no parting them when they step back inside. As they’d walked, Niall rambling on between them about the intricacies of an Irish jig, Harry had entwined their fingers behind his back and they hadn’t let go since.

Niall bounds off in the next second, moving swiftly to Gemma’s side with an enthusiasm not dissimilar to a puppy meeting another puppy for the first time. She loves every second of it, that much is clear — as soon as his hands touch her waist, she’s spun around and started kissing him.

“This is so weird,” Harry says quietly, as they survey the room.

Louis squeezes his hand a little tighter.

They meet several knowing looks head on, Gemma’s and Liam’s and _Anne’_ s. Behind them, several others who aren’t quite so well informed look a little intrigued. Karen’s gaze lingers on their hands for a long moment, but she doesn’t stop smiling for a second which Louis takes as a good sign. She doesn’t come over to ask any questions, and Louis thinks that they can leave it for the rest of the night. There’s always tomorrow for explanations, after all.

“Gemma is never going to let us forget this,” Harry says.

Louis nods grimly. “I don’t think anyone is going to let us forget this.”

He realises then that they’re just standing in the doorway, holding hands and probably looking vaguely intimidated, so he kicks himself into gear. He drags Harry further into the room, towards Liam.

When Harry figures out where they’re headed, he balks. “Oh, no, Louis — can’t this wait for-?”

“You have to meet him sometime,” Louis says.

“I have met him!”

“Not properly. Come on, you’ll like him, he’s wonderful.”

Liam looks about as nervous as Harry does when they finally make their way over to him. He’s got another glass of champagne in his hand. He had been talking to someone when they’d walked in, but apparently that conversation had ended sometime in the interim, because he’s standing alone now.

“Hi,” he says to Harry.

Harry cheeks have turned a lovely shade of pink. “Hey,” he replies. He looks awkward and embarrassed and so, so sweet.

Liam picks up on this quickly — at least the embarrassment part — and Louis watches as he relaxes. It’s actually ideal, Louis realises, that Harry is nervous. Liam never performs better than when he’s trying to reassure someone else.

“I see you guys have sorted yourselves out?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Harry flushes even more, but this time Louis is right there with him. Kicking playfully at Liam’s shin, Louis looks at the ground and tries to hide his smile. “Yeah,” he says.

A grin breaks out across Liam’s face, like he’s been waiting for confirmation before allowing himself to get too excited. “I’m glad,” he says. This would be where the conversation might peter off, if Liam weren’t the best person in the world. As it is, he dispels any awkwardness that lingers in the air by acting completely naturally. “I think some of the grandparents are getting a bit sleepy, so they’ll probably start wrapping everything up soon.”

That’s actually quite a surprise — but Louis doesn’t linger on it too long. Evidently, he and Harry had been outside talking for a little longer than he’d thought.

“They’ve still got to cut the cake though,” Liam says.

He grins again at that. They’ve been hearing about this cake for weeks now — from Karen over the phone and then at least twice a day all week from Niall.

“Thank you,” Harry blurts out.

There’s a pause, during which Louis to figure out why on earth Harry is thanking Liam for the cake — before he realises Harry’s not talking about the cake at all. He feels his face go a little hot as he clenches his hand in Harry’s and avoids Liam’s eye.

“I mean,” Harry explains, his words a little jilted. “Just — thank you. For, for looking after him.”

Louis stares at his toes. From anyone else, he might feel a little indignant at the suggestion that he needs to be looked after, but from Harry he doesn’t mind. Harry doesn’t mean it like that anyway.

Liam sounds incredibly soft when he replies. “Not at all,” he says. “I should be thanking you. This is the first time he’s not looked half-ready to cry in days.”

Louis stomps down on Liam’s toes and scowls.

Liam barely even reacts, just smiles down at him fondly. If anything, that makes Louis more irate — but he doesn’t get the chance to announce it because that’s when Gemma and Niall take control of the microphone.

“We just want to say a big thank you to everyone who made the journey to be with us today,” Gemma says, her eyes shining. “It means so much to us that you would take some time out of your schedules to come and celebrate with us. This is such a special day for Niall and I — one that we’ll remember for a long, long time, so yeah. Thank you!”

She hands to microphone over to Niall.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “We just want to make sure you know how much you mean to us — you’re all here because you’re important and you’ve been a massive part of our lives so we’re really glad to have you here. And I know that the time for speeches is over, but I do just want to devote a few words to my lovely _wife_ as well — Gems, thank _you_ for doing all this with me. It’s been pretty tough, getting everything sorted these last few months, and there’s honestly no one else I’d have done it with. This is just day one though, hey?”

He gets a round of laughter at that, some cheers and a scattered applause. None of it seems to matter a lick to him, though. He’s only got eyes for one person in the room.

“Anyway!” he says after a moment. “Without further ado! We’re gonna cut the cake and after everyone’s had a bit, we’ll finally let you lovely people go home and get some rest! Thanks again everyone!”

The cake is just as good as Niall claimed, if not better. Liam makes good use of his best man privileges and even better use of his big round eyes when he swipes an extra piece for each of them. It’s so lovely that Louis doesn’t even have it in him to laugh when Liam swipes a long line of chocolate across his cheek. Just rolls his eyes and offers him a napkin.

Once the initial awkwardness wears off, Harry and Liam get along like a house on fire. It’s still a tad uncomfortable but that is more a result of how little they know each other than anything else. Louis thinks that if all goes to plan, and Harry does become a permanent fixture in his life once again, they’ll be easy friends.

They talk about Manchester and how Harry has found living there and what he plans to do when they get back. Harry’s been working in a small cafe, he tells them both, and still hasn’t settled on any sort of career plans. “Honestly,” he says, “I haven’t even decided if I want one. I’m happy where I am for the moment, so we’ll see what changes.”

He smiles down at Louis, in a way that is far, far more dopey than Louis would usually allow.

“Well,” he corrects himself. “Things have changed, haven’t they?”

Liam looks at them with veritable hearts in his eyes and Louis thinks he’s certainly not going to live this down.

He doesn’t care though.

It does get awkward a little after that, though, when the conversation turns to how everyone is going to be getting home.

“It’s not like we’re really far away from each other,” Harry says, when he sees Louis’ hesitate. He really, really doesn’t want to let go of Harry now. Not when he’s only just got him back.

Louis smiles grimly. “Yeah, I guess,” he agrees glumly.

“Hey!” Liam jokes. “My room’s not so bad.”

Harry goes stiff at Louis’ side. Liam doesn’t seem to realise what he’s said straight away, but Harry’s reaction is apparently enough to tip him off.

Louis scrambles desperately for something to say. “Uhm,” is all he eloquently manages.

As usual, however, Liam comes to his rescue. A little bit more subdued, but still smiling, he chuckles. “ _Or_ ,” he says pointedly. “Maybe it is.”

Harry smiles a little thinly, like he’s trying his very best to act natural and failing rather miserably. He’s never had a very good poker face.

This doesn’t dissuade Liam. In fact, his smile widens. “I actually thought this might happen,” Liam says. “And I didn’t want you guys to be uncomfortable, not after the week you’ve had. So I got you this.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver, shiny card. It takes Louis a few seconds to work out what it is — but when he does, his pulse ratchets upwards.

It’s a key.

A key card, to be more specific. Like the ones they use in hotels. For _hotel rooms._

“It’s for the lodge where you guys stayed last night,” Liam explains. “I didn’t want to get in the way or anything — and I just figured you deserve it.”

“Liam,” Louis says, sounding a little bit like someone’s just punched him in the stomach. “I might actually kiss you.”

Granted, if talking about Liam’s bedroom was enough to make Harry uncomfortable, Louis probably should have thought his comment through a little more. But thankfully, Harry seems just as caught up in what the key card implies as Louis was, and far too distracted to be paying Louis’ words much attention.

Still, Liam eyes him warily. “Better not,” he says, settling for a hug instead.

He sits the key in Louis’ free hand, then pulls back to pat Harry on the shoulder. “I don’t think anyone would notice if you slipped out early,” he says. Then his ears go a little bit pink. “I mean, if you wanted.”

Louis grips the key very tightly and squeezes Harry’s hand again. “We want,” he says, glancing up at Harry just to be sure. “We want?”

Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes focusing very intently on Louis. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “We want.”

Liam’s gone quite pink by this stage. “Right then,” he says. “Well you go and, uhm, do your thing and I’ll keep everyone distracted, shall I?”

He is honestly the best friend a bloke could ask for.

.

When they get to the lodge, Harry takes the lead. He is, after all, the one who’s been here before. Their room number is on the back of their key, number 207, so it isn’t too difficult to find the right room. They stumble up one flight of stairs then rush down the corridor, searching out the right door.

Louis’ body feels alight with anticipation, the kind that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. It’s not as though he’s been abstinent since their break up, but it feels like he might as well have been. The idea of getting to touch, getting to feel Harry’s skin after so long seems like some bizarre day dream that he should have stopped thinking about by now. But it’s not, it’s a reality — and it’s only about two minutes away.

Heat swells in his lower belly when they finally reach the door, and Louis is almost overtaken by the force of it. This is happening, he thinks. This is really happening, truly — in just a few seconds, he and Harry — they’ll be —

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, fumbling the key. He struggles a few times to get into the slot and Louis laughs, feels high on it.

“Come on,” he urges, knowing he’s not helping _at all_. “Come on, Harry, come on.”

“I’m coming!” Harry says hastily.

They both pause.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Harry says after a beat.

Louis is still sniggering to himself when the door finally clicks open and they tumble inside. There’s no more pauses, no hesitation, when they reach for each other. The door hasn’t even swung shut when Harry gathers Louis up in his arms, dragging him towards the bed in the middle of the room and dropping him unceremoniously in the middle.

“Come here, come on, here,” Louis says, reaching up with his hands to tug Harry down on top of him.

They kiss like they haven’t in a long time, their lips hot and wet with spit. Their teeth knock together a couple of times, before they settle into a familiar rhythm. Harry’s mouth on his is warm, insistent, and Louis can’t help but grab him by the collar and haul him closer. His heavy weight on top of him brings bliss like none other, like Harry’s surrounding him from every angle, blanketing him completely.

“Louis—”

Louis sucks in a harsh breath when Harry pulls away, his curls draping forward and shadowing Louis’ face. His green eyes are blown, pupils wide and dark and Louis can’t look away — not even when he reaches down to tug at the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

He hasn’t, however, taken Harry’s suit jacket into account. No matter how much Louis might appreciate the garment when they’re upright, the way that it falls from Harry’s shoulders to hug his exquisite curves, now it is nothing more than a hindrance. He tugs uselessly at the shirt a few more times anyway, growing more and more frustrated. “Fuck— _Harry_.”

Harry’s large hand settles around Louis’ wrist, stills him. His grin, when Louis sees it, is positively delighted. “What’s your plan, here?” he asks, quirking his brow.

“Shut _up_ ,” Louis orders. He yanks his hand free from Harry’s and shuffles, freeing his other arm so that he can reach up and push at the corners of Harry’s suit. He manages to get the offending jacket pushed down to Harry’s elbows, before Harry has to lean back to help. He rids himself of the jacket and tosses it to the floor — but before it lands, Louis’ got his hands back on him.

He snakes his hands underneath Harry’s shirt, his fingernails scraping over the soft muscle and pushing the fabric away. There are so many tattoos — so _many_ tattoos that he hasn’t seen — and Louis wants to drink them all in.

“Off,” he orders, continuing to push even though he knows the shirt unbuttons. “Get it off.”

Harry looks hopelessly endeared, which is an incredibly positive sign. He tugs the shirt off over his head, despite the buttons, and disregards that as well.

And then — and, and then.

There’s so much fucking skin, Louis doesn’t know where to begin. All he knows is that he wants to get his mouth on him, fucking _yesterday_ , and he’s not going to waste any more time.

He shoves at Harry’s shoulder, rough enough that it catches Harry off guard — or off balance, whatever — and he tumbles to the side. Louis climbs over him without a pause, settling a leg on either side of his hips before bending down and finally, _finally,_ drinking in his fill.

He starts at Harry’s collarbones, scraping his teeth across the crest of the bone there and nipping at the fleshy place where Harry’s neck meets his shoulder. Harry makes an absolutely wonderful noise, clutching at Louis and letting his head fall back. It only exposes the hard line of Harry’s neck, which Louis is more than happy to reacquaint himself with.

The skin there is undeniably soft, and Louis lingers. He bites and he nips and he licks as he pleases, marking his place in this spot where Harry’s scent is so undeniably strong. Harry’s pulse beats a crescendo under his lips that mimics the frantic thump that thrums through Louis’ own veins.

He pulls back to admire his own work, to watch the swelling red spots that will be purple by morning, when something else catches his eye.

Two swallows stare back at him, lining Harry’s chest and robbing Louis of his breath. “You kept them,” he says.

He’s seen them over the past few days, but Harry’s sheer shirts have only offered a hint of the lines that actually detail Harry’s skin. Louis hasn’t let himself think about it too much, hasn’t let himself dwell because he’d thought he’d never get the answer.

But now, Harry just smiles and says, “Course, I did,” like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Which, if Louis is honest, makes sense — Harry’s probably not at a point in his life where he can afford tattoo removal — but Louis’ heart still swells to twice it’s normal size. The way Harry says it makes it seem like he never considered anything else, like no other option ever crossed his mind.

Louis rakes his gaze across the rest of Harry’s skin — the moth is a new addition, but not a surprise. Harry had been talking about getting it when things between them had come to a close. Instead, what takes Harry off guard are the two laurel leaves that frame his hips.

He runs his thumb across one of the smaller leaves and savours the way that Harry’s abdomen jumps under his touch. “They’re beautiful,” he says.

Harry smiles up at him, looking practically angelic with his curls splayed out on the pristine white sheets. “Thanks,” he says.

Louis reaches out to touch the other one, “You should tell me why you got them.”

“I will,” Harry says. He leans up then until he is sitting, and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist. His bites at the base of Louis’ neck, licks the tender mark he leaves behind and then says, “I want to hear about yours as well. But later.”

Louis thinks about the dagger that runs up his arm and flushes. Harry has certainly seen it over the past week — it’s been hot and Louis’ hasn’t been wearing many sleeves unless he’s had to. He hasn’t thought about it til now, hasn’t thought about what Harry might think — especially considering that Louis got it almost six months after they’d broken up.

Later, he tells himself. For now, there are more urgent tasks that need seeing to.

“I like your hair long,” Louis says, toying with it while Harry teethes at his neck. “It suits you.”

Harry hums into his skin. “Thank you.” He brings his hand up and presses his palm to the curve of Louis’ jaw, brushing his thumb across the bristle of Louis’ stubble. “I like the beard.”

Louis blushes at that, and distracts himself by refocusing on the task at hand. There is so much more of Harry to touch, to taste, so he shouldn’t waste time.

He pushes Harry back down, realigning their legs so that their hips press together _just_ right.  Then he reacquaints himself with Harry’s third and fourth nipples, and smiles into Harry’s skin at the breathy giggle he gets in return. It’s playful for a moment, until it’s not, until Louis’s lips touch the laurel on the left and Harry’s jaw snaps shut with a click.

Louis points his tongue and makes a point to trail it across the black outline. Harry’s stomach quivers with the mood and his hand lands suddenly, heavily, in Louis’ hair. The noise he lets out might have been a word, in one lifetime, but certainly isn’t anymore.

The taste of him is something earthy, sweet and heady. It’s the way he smells, only intensified. Musky, like the smell of dusk on a summer night and home.

He could spend the rest of the night there, Louis thinks. Without a doubt. But the time he wants to devote to relearning Harry’s body definitely outstrips the one night that Liam’s paid for — so eventually he pulls away and leans back up near Harry’s face. He dots a kiss on Harry’s jaw line before leaning back to survey him.

“Hey,” Harry says, because apparently he’ll be an absolute dork no matter how many years pass.  

Louis rolls his eyes, doesn’t think about how fond he probably looks. “How are we doing this, then?” he asks.

Harry considers him. “You mean: will I do you or will you do me?”

He lifts his hip as if to drive the point home, as if Louis needed any further encouragement. Not that Louis is complaining, of course. The hard line of his dick is absolutely exquisite and Louis’ mouth almost waters at the feel of it.

“I’d quite like to do you,” Harry says then. “If that’s alright with you.”

Louis fights the urge to whimper and instead, nods thoroughly. “Oh, my god, yes,” he says absolutely shamelessly. “But I reserve the right to fuck you in the morning.”

Harry grins. “Glad to know some things haven’t changed.”

Louis smirks. It’s unfortunate, he thinks, that Harry won’t ever know what it’s like to be wrapped up between Harry’s legs, because it’s one of Louis’ favourite places in the world.

He says as much to him, then grins when Harry clutches him close and giggles like a mad thing. He wraps his arms around Louis so tight that they tumble to the side, rolling to face each other while Harry rolls his eyes.

“You are such a loser,” he tells Louis then.

Louis doesn’t mind though. He just grins some more. “You got a condom?” he asks.

There’s a minor struggle when Harry tries to get his wallet out of his back pocket, but once it’s free he finds the condom fairly quickly. He ignores the look Louis gives him — a mixture of scandalised surprise and relief — and drops it on the bed beside him. “Don’t have any lube, though,” he says.

Louis raises a brow. “What?” he says. “You mean you don’t carry any in your wallet in case you get lucky.”

Harry goes a little pink and pointedly ignores the question. Instead he says, “I saw some lotion in the shower though — when I was getting ready this morning. I reckon every rooms got some.”

And like, yeah, Louis’ had classes on this sort of thing and read all the pamphlets and he knows that nondescript hotel lotion probably isn’t the best thing to have going into any orifice let alone his — but this is a very special set of circumstances, and he’s never _heard_ of anyone dying from incorrect use of lotion.

He fetches it quickly from the bathroom, sealed and packaged in a compact little bottle. As he walks back, he searches for instructions that might warn against _internal use_ but he doesn’t find anything.

Then, when he glances back at the bed he finds that Harry has used his brief absence to rid himself of his jeans as well, and all of his thoughts promptly fly out the window.

“Fuck,” Louis says, just looking at him.

Harry flushes a pretty pink then beckons him closer. “Find it?”  

Louis nods, tosses the lotion down beside the condom and doesn’t take his eyes off Harry. His cock is hard, tenting his boxer briefs out obscenely, the head peeking mouth-wateringly over the elastic band. He steps closer though, almost reverent in his approach, entirely unsure where he should ever try and start.

Harry reaches out and snags his tie, tugs him closer and pouts. “Why are you wearing so many clothes still?”

Louis honestly has no idea.

Harry makes quick work of them though, shedding Louis of his layers with a speed and agility he’s always reserved for the bedroom. Another thing that hasn’t changed, Louis thinks, is how desperate Harry seems to see him naked.

“God, c’mere,” Harry moans when he’s got Louis down to his birthday suit. He doesn’t waste any time, his fingers wrapping around Louis’ length and gripping him tightly. He flicks his wrist exactly, _exactly_ the way that’s always driven Louis mad and groans again. “I’m totally going to blow you later,” he continues almost casually. “But we should, we should — you should come here.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He lets go of Louis’ cock, and watches happily as it springs upwards and slaps Louis on the stomach before hauling Louis down onto the bed next to him. He rolls on top of him smoothly, settling between Louis’ legs like he’s never, never left and digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Louis’ bum.

Their dicks rub obscenely through the cotton of Harry’s pants.

“Jesus _fuck—!_ ” Louis hisses.

Harry lets out another wonderful, low noise — that grumbles from the very back of his throat, before leaning down to kiss Louis again.

While Harry’s rough lips drag across his own, Louis brings his hands up, scratching his nails across the tender skin on Harry’s back. He can’t wait to see the marks tomorrow, the red and tender reminder that Harry can still wreck him in the best of ways.

The rocking, when it starts, is completely unintentional. Searching for a way to get closer, to hold Harry closer, Louis’ hips lift slightly and his legs fall further open. Harry buries himself in the space there, squishing their cocks between them and creating the most exquisite kind of friction. Louis actually likes the coarse fabric of his pants, likes the burn that it brings to the soft head of his dick.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Louis pants into Harry’s ear. “Oh, my fucking _god.”_

“I wanna fuck you so bad, Lou,” Harry’s hoarse voice replies. “I’ve missed it so much, I’ve missed _you_.”

Louis fights desperately to keep his breath steady and completely, utterly fails. “Wh—why don’t you then?” he gasps. “I’m — I’m not going to stop you.”

As if to prove his point he clutches even more at Harry’s shoulders, flattening Harry out on top of him until they’re touching at practically every point. He can feel the frantic rise and fall of Harry’s chest right up against his own lungs, Louis thinks. The pulse in his neck, the wide set of his shoulders, the slim line of his hips.

“Lube,” Harry pants. “Lube, gimme the lube.”

He doesn’t pull back so much as crane forward, pressing Louis roughly down into the mattress as he reaches for the lube. It does stop the kissing though, which Louis is going to pout about until he realises where this is all going.

While Harry drenches his fingers in lotion, Louis finally manages to rid him of his pants. Only down to his knees, the position they’re in doesn’t allow much more than that, but that’s really all that Louis needs.

“Spread,” Harry orders then.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis says, and spreads.

He hooks his hands underneath his knees and pulls back, while Harry leans a little further back to look down at him. Harry’s thighs come forward, propping him up slightly beneath his bum to give him a better vantage point.

“I missed you too,” Louis suddenly blurts out, looking up at Harry with wide eyes.

Harry pauses, lifting his gaze away from where Louis’ is on display for him and frowning slightly. Which is understandable, because Louis had just kind of spoken up from out of the blue.

Blushing, he rushes to clarify. “I mean, I haven’t said it as much as you,” he explains himself. “And I want you to know that I do. Did. Have. I’ve missed you.”

Harry softens. He turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to the inside of Louis’ calf, raised half up in the air.

“I know,” he says. “You don’t have to explain.”

Louis nods, feeling incredibly embarrassed now. “I just wanted to be sure.”

This is so weird, he thinks. Of course, in the wake of the week they’ve had, it’s no surprise that their emotions are running a little high — but it’s completely ridiculous to be panting in each other’s ears one second, then gazing into each other’s eyes in the next.

“Oh god, listen to me,” Louis whines. “I’m a sap; you’ve turned me into a sap.”

Harry looks incredibly, incredibly pleased. “You _are_ a sap,” he says, sounding delighted. Then he leans forward, pasting an overtly sleazy look on his face and hoods his eyes. “A sap I’m gonna fuck.”

Louis slaps a hand over his eyes, and doesn’t even have time to think before he’s barking out a laugh. “No,” he says immediately. “No way, that was fucking awful.”

Harry shoots him a toothy grin before leaning forward, pressing sweetly through the gap where Louis’ still got his legs spread wide to place a soft kiss on Louis’ lips. It’s mostly teeth — he’s grinning so wide, but Louis doing exactly the same thing so it doesn’t seem to matter so much.

“Get away from me,” Louis protests, even while he pulls Harry closer. “You’re disgusting, you disgust me.”

“You _love_ me,” Harry croons back, still grinning like a loon. “And you love me _fucking_ you.” He sings it. The motherfucker actually fucking sings it.

He’s right. Louis does love him.

“Oh, alright,” Louis sighs, like his dick isn’t still rock hard and begging between them. “Go ahead then, if you must.”

Harry grins and without even pausing, settles a wet finger at Louis’ entrance. He presses the tip of his finger inside, looking impossibly smug and not breaking eye contact even once.

Louis squeaks.

“God,” Harry says. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Ordinarily, Louis would spit fire at a compliment like that. But now he’s too distracted rocking back on the tip of Harry’s finger, desperately searching for more, to pay the comment too much mind.

From there, things move fairly quickly.  Once the first finger has slipped in, a second one quickly follows and then a third. Louis doesn’t pay attention to the time, unable to think of anything outside of the exquisite stretch of Harry’s long and well practiced fingers.

He only notices when Harry pulls away, and lets out a pathetic little whine that he will absolutely deny later.

His only saving grace is that Harry seems just as desperate, his fingers fumbling in their eagerness to tear open the condom packet. In the end, he does it with his teeth, snagging a corner and yanking it open by force. Then, it takes two tries for him to actually get the damn thing on.

Louis can’t help but tug at his own cock. He feels awfully empty, without Harry’s fingers to play with — but the promise of Harry’s dick is more than enough to keep him from complaining.

Harry stretches out over him, rubbing the head of his dick over Louis’ hole a few times just to make Louis whine. And Louis will complain, he really, really will — but that particular brand of lovely, awful torture is completely forgotten only seconds later when Harry finally pushes forward and sinks into him.

He lets out an absolutely wonderful sound, low and guttural and completely overwhelmed as he presses in to the hilt. Once fully seated, he pauses for a moment — holding his whole body tense like he might explode at any moment.

Louis, overwhelmed and happy and satisfied in every sense of the word, preens. It feels good, so good, too good, to be stretched like this on Harry’s dick — but it feels even better knowing that Harry is just as affected.

“Go on then,” Louis says, aiming for nonchalance and falling far, far short of the mark. “What are you waiting for?”

Harry shudders with his whole body, his hips twitching forward and pressing Louis right _fucking_ there. “You to shut your smart mouth,” he pants back in reply.

And yeah, Louis thinks. Harry’s definitely the one for him.

Any reply Louis can think of is lost when Harry lifts himself up over Louis. Bracing himself on his elbows, framing Louis’ head and holding him close, Harry begins to rock his hips back and forth, pulling out of Louis slowly only to slam soundly back home.

“Who—?” Louis tries, when his brain has _somewhat_ gotten used to the constant jolts of pleasure that come with Harry’s every move. “Who else is going to tell you what to do?”

Harry chooses that moment to slam up against his prostate and then pauses there. Louis lets out a loud and helpless shout, and the sudden onslaught of pleasure that bursts through him actually stings tears at his eyes.

“Oh, fuck!” Louis says, when Harry begins to move, nailing that spot with every thrust. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” It’s completely involuntary, the words that escape him, and the only way he can think to stop himself is to bite down heavily on his lower lip.

Harry protests almost immediately. “No,” he says, “don’t do that, I want to hear you. Let me hear you.”

The air was thick around them, heavy with the smell of sweat and sex, and Harry’s request is so sincere that Louis can’t even help himself. He loses himself to it, lets his head lie back and allows the soft, high pitch moans to spill from him without caution. _‘Uh, uh, uh’_ it sounds like, and Louis might be embarrassed if he didn’t already know how the sound drove Harry wild.

Like he said, he thinks incoherently. Some things never change.

He can feel his orgasm coming, the constant stimulation on his prostate far, far too much to handle for long, and releases himself to it. It feels so good, and the fact that it’s Harry only makes it so much sweeter. He thought that he’d lost this, that he’d never feel this again — and by fucking Christ, he’d never take Harry for granted ever again, not if it meant losing this, the closeness and the safety and the absolute sense of security that Louis felt when he was wrapped up beneath him.

Harry doesn’t let up, even as Louis’ body jerks the way it always does right before he comes. It’s almost too much, but he doesn’t even pause — just continues pounding into Louis’ clenching hole, thrusting at a feverish pace.

Louis closes his eyes when he comes, his head pressing back into the mattress as his whole body shudders with it. His own come lands hot on his stomach, just as Harry reaches his peak — and Louis jerks his eyes back open.

He watches Harry come with awe — the obscene stretch of his neck, the sweaty stick of his curls to his forehead and the bitten pink of his lips all coming together to form an absolute masterpiece as his face curls with ecstasy.

“Holy fuck,” Harry whispers as he comes down. “Holy fuck, Lou.”

“Mhmmm,” Louis says, feeling incredibly close to comatose. “Yeah.”

Harry drops his entire weight, pancaking Louis down beneath his body and squishing Louis’ come between them. Louis grunts at the sudden weight, then lets out a huff of annoyed laughter.

“Ugh,” he says. “Get the fuck off me, you oaf.”

“No,” Harry replies. “I’m never moving ever again.”

He rolls off in the next second though. He pulls out of Louis, the two of them only wincing slightly as they part, and quickly gets rid of the condom. He does his best to toss it across the room into the wastepaper basket, but it misses by a mile and lands on the carpet.

“Whoops,” Harry says.

“You’re disgusting,” Louis says fondly.

Harry shrugs and rolls back, forgetting about the condom in favour of nuzzling his curls into the curve of Louis’ neck. He lifts a heavy leg and drops it over Louis’ legs, like he can’t bear even the smallest inch of space being left between them.

“Love you,” Harry hums.

Louis smiles, lets the words rush over him. “Love you, too,” he says.

They rest in silence for a while then, revelling in each other’s company and the softly slowing beat of their hearts. It doesn’t last for long though.

“I also love Liam,” Harry announces grandly. “Liam’s the best.”

Louis grins, and buries his face in Harry’s curls. Harry is probably referring to the key and the hotel room that Liam had gifted them, or maybe even to the way that Liam had finally exposed their secret. But Louis thinks of it a little differently. After all, if it weren’t for Liam, he wouldn’t have come — he wouldn’t have seen Harry again, and none of this would have happened at all. So,

 “Yeah,” Louis sighs happily. “He really, really is.”

.

**_Fin._ **

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird spot to end it? Yes. Am I glad I ended it with Liam love? Also yes. Is Liam's violin teacher Zayn or Sophia? Well, I'll leave that up to you to decide. 
> 
> Also, I do not condone the use of obscure hotel lotion as lube. Practice safe sex, kiddies, these guys are totally fictional. 
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you again to everyone who's been with me as I've been writing this fic. It's been a long while since I've written a WIP and I'd totally forgotten how much fun they are. But you guys were supportive, and enthusiastic and incredibly, incredibly lovely to me the whole way through - so yeah, thank you, thank you, thank you! And thanks to the people who were strong enough to wait until I finished posting to read, I hope you enjoyed it and that it was worth the wait! 
> 
> I would be so, so grateful if you all tried to leave a comment below. Feedback really is the absolute best part of this for me, and I'm really quite proud of this fic as a whole so I'd love to hear what you thought. And if each and every one of you leaves a comment, I'll probably be happy for the rest of my whole life :P 
> 
> So I'll see you next time - I'm plotting out another Regency AU as we speak - and I can't wait to hear your thoughts! xx

**Author's Note:**

> you know the drill if you liked it pls reblog the tumblr [post](http://bottomlinsons.tumblr.com/post/127228582317) and any questions/updates on the fic can be directed to/found at my [tumblr](http://www.bottomlinsons.tumblr.com) (and if you follow me i'll 1000000% follow you back) 
> 
> ps. kudos and comments make me smile?? ? ?


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